by Geer Austin Goodbye My name is Jérôme, and I live near the Avenue du Président Kennedy, you said. Your hair was green so I asked you to stay. Yeah but I got a ticket to fly, you said. We were in my apartment on Mulberry Street, watching hipsters clomp up the block. A tricolored
by Jen Stein Consider that the board is well mapped. In a place where two rivers meet, there is a park with oaks arching overhead, dappled sunlight on a riverbank, a bench, it is June, it is dusk. A broken swing with a wind-driven creak, rhythmic and slow as a sleeping heart. I am looking
by Marc Alan Di Martino My first week in New York I spotted Thurston Moore sauntering out of a bakery on Spring St. Artists had once flocked to SoHo in retreat from rent hikes, but by then you couldn’t live there without a trust fund. He nearly ran me down, or so the memory has
by CL Bledsoe Shaking hands. Shaking body. A red licorice panic twirling up my throat for days each time she calls. Stay busy. Projects. Work, like a weighted blanket. Date anyone, but be nice about it. Movies. Shows. Stand outside friends’ houses until they get home. Don’t make it weird. Bring dinner. Flowers. Be on.
by Lenny DellaRocca Because you’re living on reds, vitamin C & Cocaine Because you do wah ditty ditty dum ditty do Because you love the colorful clothes she wears Because you wear your hair like heaven Because Susanne takes you down to a place by the river Because Alice won’t answer your question Because there’s
by Gerald Wagoner Brooklyn’s skyline is a dank, indistinct brume with snow soon. Another empty rusted warehouse opposite this side of the canal, useful last month, awaits demolition. Low old buildings on both sides of The Gowanus are being leveled. More glass high-rises will go up. Young people, couples with bright eyes will move in.
by Jim Tilley Creeping is an act of stealth, moving slowly and carefully to avoid being heard or noticed, a label improperly assigned to the invasive plants rapidly climbing trunks of trees to erect themselves, smothering those trees’ leaves, blocking sunlight, suppressing photosynthesis, killers by design, somewhat like their cousins growing uncontrollably, spreading to other
in this spare forest windy accents are longing to enter the mouths of the silent actors to make mon: of this than a wooded matinee. With these trees standing at moral attention you can ask questions: Are these really The Wonder Years? Or to vary a theme: Is the world a tenable place to live,
by Melinda Thomsen I was raised by Cinderella souls whose high arched feet fit into glass slippers. Those extra narrow sized shoes I wore looked like Barbie accessories, not the medium widths I wear now after years of retail sales and teaching in New York. Then, I wore kitten heels, which pinched my toes inside
by Genevieve Creedon If you set aside the fact that I never wanted to get married, you might understand my love for cake toppers—not the black tux and white dress kind, but the LEGO minifigures, Monsters Inc. characters, Bert & Ernie varieties: what would you be if you could be anything? First, there was Pluto,