Recent Publications

“Face mask strings tightened/

to a canary yellow, splitting sheets of plywood like a heartbeat. Lub-dub/

dub-dub lub-dub. Ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum. I have held the weight/

of a gun.” a a a gun.

Illuminations

Lindsey Drager

“How the swollen flesh splits,

burns black in the unflinching sun,

molds gray-green and soft

to the touch.”

“ I kept walking the river every evening. The water smelled stronger as it pulled back, moss and rot thick in the air. I picked up small things and carried them home in my pockets: a rusted nail, a feather, the handle of a broken teacup. I laid them in rows along my windowsill, the way other kids taped up posters of bands.”

Mud on the Window

Justin Taroli

I took the lessons from my father & reaped what was sown

Jordan Cobb

What doesn’t matter to the mason bees in my father’s garden

Emily Harman

“The woman is breathing and sweating; the light outside feels wrong and wild. But she is staying skeptical. She is staying skeptical because, she thinks, there is something to loving another that is rooted in unknowability. There is something about human love that is tied to not-knowing and finding a way through the unknowability toward something close to trust.”