by Brad Rose The Miami real estate market is so hot, it’s melting the North Pole. Naturally, you can’t tell who’s innocent and who’s guilty just by looking at a courthouse. My doctor says I’m not taking enough drugs, but I told him that in a flight simulator, a bird doesn’t need any wings. Luckily,
by David P. Miller The year I round the bend to forty-nine, my mother emails infant memory kernels to her four sons on their birthdays. Her key word for me, her first: mystique. This is the mystique: I was the baby fresh home from the maternity ward, wafted across the threshold by her, anxious married
by Jacob Butlett They say we are made of stars, our cells entwined with the universe. We drift around one another around a sun whose radiance grasps our hair and thighs as the skies explode into indigo. A meadowlark’s yawn teeters on our fingertips as we stretch outside our tents, gaze at the stars retreating
by Sarah Sarai i. After my mother died from Jesus I left my hair color alone. If it’s just fucking you want, or all you can handle, a decent cut will do. ii. We laughed, me and her, when she stopped. It was the same faded blond she’d been covering. iii. Once I quit, my
by Joseph Mills He watches his son walk off the court and sees someone greet him, or try to; there is an awkward collision of hands, and it jolts the parent as he recognizes knowledge his child lacks and needs. At home, he googles Youtube videos of handshakes, hand grips, hand clasps, high fives, soul
by Joseph Mills For an elementary school dance contest, my big sister taught me disco moves from films I wasn’t old enough to see. Dance to me seemed mostly about attitude, and I had as much then as I would ever have. We choreographed a routine, but it was only a minute, so my partner
by Robert Halleck Truth be known, she did not want it to happen, If you feel that way don’t come home. A shouted warning after a morning fight over a toothbrush before he left slamming the door behind him—an act dulling thoughts of last night at Danny’s: white table cloths, heavy menus, wine, baskets of
by Elisabeth Frischauf As snow wanes, so my sorrow grows. Treasured scarce, too soon gone we’re forced to compress our games— forget snow boy’s eyes (the hour wan) snow girl ears—just shove in twigs! As dark cold’s steady march intrudes Quick to the hill! Slide by sled or ski short hours joy intensifies (to be
by R.T. Castleberry The map of the world has changed since I photographed you faded in its frame, ink lighter with the seasons. No Siam, no Burma, one Vietnam. Across the room your cheekbones are sharper, hair shorter, bright blonde as your lips and nails are red. Aroma from a whiskey tumbler reveals polite wine
by Jordi Alonso After William Shakespeare Stop masturbating, Henry, long enough To get yourself a girlfriend, or a wife. You’re way too handsome to just waste your—stuff. Stop masturbating, Henry, get a life! Like one who borrows, paying nothing back You’ll spend your days sore and alone—you need To start a family. You’ll have no