Altogether we were / uncountable, and another / of us we abandoned / at the shore.
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Colors of Sound by Hantian Zhang
White emerges when all wavelengths of light reflect off an object with equal intensity, much like how white noise distributes its amplitude across its entire frequency range. Examples abound: running water, the whir of a fan, the hum of a vacuum.
Read MoreThe Great Food Question by Leah Harris
And I realize that layered in pasta and ham, spinach and oats, maybe the food question is really a language of love, a question of intimacy — because what’s closer to a person than the food they eat?
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At the Supernova of Boyhood by Joe Bonomo
In his memoir 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left, Robyn Hitchcock’s assembled a lovely, evocative, characteristically quirky portal back to that heady time.
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Peach Ode by Matt Poindexter
Sweet teenage goths, come back / from evening’s municipal cemeteries / and haunt the living for a minute.
A Hospitable Man by Theodora Ziolkowski
The kind of man Cathy imagined would pursue an eleven-year-old should be tall and fit. He ought to wear fitted washed jeans, his button-up sleeves rolled loosely. His fingers should be stacked with rings, and a tattoo should climb the side of his neck, his forearm or bicep. But the man who’d sought out Cathy was short and stocky. His pasty skin had a sheen that made it look extra malleable, like putty.
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Come In Go Ahead Say Again by Christopher Citro
Skies have moods. We gave these / to them. Named the rivers. Imagine that.
Two Poems by Court Castaños
An old man will watch us, openly / stare, two boys in a Nevada diner / leaning towards each other, a touch / too close.
Notes on an Apology by Scott Ditzler
I told myself it wasn’t my responsibility. I told myself it wasn’t my fault, and grabbed my flannel off the back of the chair, the bag of scripts off the sink. I found my jeans at the foot of the bed, my shoes, my cigarettes, and I walked out into the cold.
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Two Poems by Matti Powers
In a third smoke session of the night sort of way I ask him / what’s the worst thing he’s ever done. He searches me for the / fish hook, says he was unfaithful-a few times-to the first girl he / loved.
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Reductionism by Liz Harms
Any moment the doctor / will knock—the wait suspenseful, caught / breath before a jump scare.
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Exercises by Brooke Champagne
Enter: The Clown.
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The Third-Best Clown in New York by Aaron Rabinowitz
Suddenly, the building’s main door banged open. Something heavy was being lugged up the stairs. Kevin slid behind me and dragged open the apartment door.
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Terminal Degrees by Angela Townsend
I have letters after my name, but they are profane, so I do not use them. The saints in the catacombs would rise up and declare me anathema if I did. But the transcript says what it says.
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Taxidermy Lessons by Maren Loveland
Lay the snapping turtle’s corpse / on a swarming ant hill, // return to it after the flesh / is joyously devoured.
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Requesting A Transfer To A New Family Group by Heather Bartos
"Once it's official, start packing. Submit two copies of your letter of resignation. One goes to your parents, for their records."
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Elegy for Aunt Kate by Nora Gupta
"The fear of Death was spoon-fed to me— / the drear of black velvet drapes // over glossy wood coffins, heartbeats swallowed / but never digested."
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Dreamlover by Ciara Alfaro
The last story Milena gave me was unlike all the rest. In it, a girl stood trapped on the strip of land between a lagoon and the sea, the sky black overhead, the cranes out to get her.
Read MoreMoving Back to Move Forward by Sara Kim
Immigration, assimilation, and trying to make it in a country – especially one where the primary language is nothing like your native tongue – can be traumatizing. But I had suspicions that there were other reasons for all the trauma.
Obviously, there’d been the Korean War where a ghastly three to four million people had been killed, and before that the callous Japanese occupation, but what exactly had taken place during these events?
Delivery Window by Alison Powell
I never meant to raise my own children, not all the time, anyhow. Not like this. Some days I really miss John, but really what I miss is when people could seem like whole cities instead of swamps.
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