Sometimes families fall apart. It’s not always the Brussel sprouts’ fault. One kid loves cauliflower. Another loves kale. That third baby that no one knew about might have loved broccoli but you will never know whether or not just as you will never know how many cc’s there are in broccoli.
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Three Poems by Janice N. Harrington
I am grass and root and loam. A vole tunnels in my throat. / Field mice bed inside my womb. Hair, limbs, / fingers lengthen and rise, lengthen and slender into turkeyfoot / and stands of Indiangrass.
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Cake by Anthony Varallo
Time passed. The boy grew older. Taller. Able to reach all the way inside the freezer whenever he felt like it, which wasn’t often. Most of the time, he could find whatever he wanted in the refrigerator.
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Chaos by Julia Charlotte
When life feels chaotic, it makes me feel better to remember that it is; everything is depressing, but cover it in flowers.
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Two Poems by Natalie Dunn
We would lie on her bed with our legs up on the white wall eating saltines / with butter while we made a list of everything we wanted. / Try to keep your hunger, someone said when she died in the summer. / I ate flour and bone. Measured the distance between two cups on the table.
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Little Pelvic Bone by Jessica Fordham Kidd
The mother bit the very tiniest tip off the snake’s tail. It tasted metallic and felt tough between her teeth. Then, she tossed the snake into a stand of privet hedge.
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A Normal Interview with Michael Chin by Mialise Carney
I came around to the idea of this book being a lot like the storytelling I would do in early romantic relationships, when I wanted so badly to share my whole whole world with this person who felt vitally important to me, who I couldn’t wait to have fully immersed in my life and the world I’d known.
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The Muse the World Forgot to Name by Mureall Hebert
She paints roses under heavy skies. Purple, / the color of bruised plums. The artistry is in knowing / her audience, their heart-beaten stutter riding / on airbrushed waves.
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Syllabus for My Mother by Catharina Coenen
Prerequisite: A hunger for written words. Remember how your mother wanted you to stay in school?
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Two Flash Fiction Pieces by Rita Feinstein
He looks at me so suddenly that I return to my body in pins and needles. For a moment there, I’d forgotten I exist.
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Something of Home by Brian Simoneau
When you’re young, cities seem magnificent no matter what. Wide-eyed/ you look up to all the buildings crowned with wreaths of ice, speak fondly/ all the streets, mouth full with knowing This is home.
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Something To Remember Me By by Gabrielle Brant Freeman
I gift you rough ditches / where I search for purple fists / of thistle. I suck hard / the sweet petals like spears / all the way down / to the stinging white heart.
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A Guide for Boys (Ages 6+) by Samuel Rafael Barber
It’s perfectly normal to imagine becoming a Football Star. Your imaginations need so much practice for where we will be taking you. “The Possible” is as important to imagine as “The Real” you think you see.
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Fear of Women by Logan Hoffman-Smith
“You have to understand—the Women were hungry, angry, trying to survive—that this is what happens when a Maker cannot love their own creations,” mother tried to explain. Beloved, i would gaze at the invading Women, at their sallow eyes and ruptured hearts, and see only monsters. Perhaps this was why i did what i did.
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Honeymoon by Paul Haney
What happened in that pause? Did the driver consider his own attractions? The features he desires in a woman, or even a man? Did he consider how little control he had over those desires?
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Empty and Sparkling by Katherine Indermaur
Every night the man came home and saw the progress his wife was making on the mirror. Somehow she found just the right place for each shard, the right edges to slide alongside one another.
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Dawn of Graduation by Mike Yunxuan Li
When the decision letters came, he didn’t even open a single envelope from the Cali schools. He believed the East was where the heart of the country resided. Surely, people there would notice his intellect and talents. Surely, they would give a shit about the stuff he was passionate about.
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A January without Heat by Tara Ballard
What is a lover in hat and scarf at the stove when dead / is the roadmap? He asks me for something unexpectedly beautiful, like a poet / might, so I leave my stone home for the garden.
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Only Boats by Colette Cosner
Blank space skips a generation. / I don't know from art or what I lack. At the funeral / her children fought over last rites and good china. / I said nothing, so got only boats.
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Fitness Test by Sasha Tandlich
The kids say things behind his back when he makes them stand at attention at the start of class. He has three classes at once; there are too many kids and all he’s trying to do is keep them under control. His strictness is read as meanness, but he only looks angry because his transition lenses are taking too long to adjust to the bright Florida sun.
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