by Michael Passafiume We were in your red van on our way upstate to another Miracle Legion show because they were the fucking coolest band & only you & I knew that & you were trying to tell me something. We were having a picnic at Beethoven Park & god, I was wearing those stupid
by Susana H. Case I was nineteen in Ohio. Mornings, the phone rang with my assignment. I’d run down the hill to catch the bus— a different school most mornings— clutching a bag of M&M’s for lunch. Principals said, just keep the students quiet. Poor Maurice—same size as me, but mentally a six-year-old—all deficits and
by Pamela L. Laskin Going to grow a gorgeous garden with wisteria blooming between begonias and roses ripe with longing. I had the seeds, the soil. All was ripe for blossoming. even the way I measured the distance between where the seeds were planted. How could I have known the heat was venomous, the waters
by John Reed You and I are everywhere but here. Down on Gansevoort at the swanky bar, the cherrystone clams are ready for us, on ice on a platter, on the half shell– and the sprinklers time-on at the great lawn– and an orange skirt is somewhere walking– and drivers are adjusting their mirrors. We’re
by Barry Wallenstein Passing by a mirror, he pays no attention and gazes in the other direction. He pushes forward without looking back. It’s enough to know it’s there he thinks; placing one small thought behind another, he banishes envy, spite, rancor and courts a breeze on its way across a field of heather. Well
by CL Bledsoe I’ve died here before. I’ve died here and kept stumbling toward that place where everyone is safe. I’ve seen it on tee-shirts. I hear helicopters, but they aren’t for me. You were the only way I could rise. Don’t leave me with the moon for my only friend. It’s cold and they
by Tom Barlow How would you feel if it were your head reshaped as a butternut squash, your nose grafted onto your forehead, eyes beady and wandering like pinballs, and all dressed up in the skin of the drowned? Was that tenderness or disrespect that guided his brush to rip into those faces and leave
by John Dorroh Last night you dreamed about me cleaning out the basement, dispersing heart dust into the atmosphere, aggravating my asthma, detritus settling in my morning coffee cup. You said I shook it off and cooked chicken wings in the oven with three different sauces. My next-door neighbor with the 8-inch cock stole my
by Cameron Morse Thunder creaks in the crawlspace. The house speaks to me nights I have trouble sleeping, its tongue pierced by nails. Lightning haunts my window, lightning without rain. If only I could sleep and be healed, sleep without dreams. Breathe without dread. But I am on my hands and my knees always in