Category: Issue 13
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COLLAPSED by Michael Holladay
When I was at Andy’s house he looked at me and said, “I want to stone that place to the ground.” We were getting high on the basement couch, and he was behind a thin mist of smoke. He was talking about the tobacco warehouse his dad inherited, now dilapidated. Or, his dad called it…
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TWO POEMS by Anne Barngrover
ELEGY FOR FALLEN PALMS –after Hurricane Irma I learn the facts about what we’ve lost: palm trees don’t form annual rings. You’d find their age in the Bible or Quran, old as Oil …
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TOO BEAUTIFUL TO BE BELIEVED by April Vazquez
“Teo, Teo, Teo,” Álvaro sings into the phone. “You’re not going to believe what I did today. Even after I tell you you’re still not going to believe it.” His voice is all keyed up, like he’s calling to tell me it’s my turn to collect on la tanda. Chingao, I think. Now what? “You…
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AS THE FOG ROLLS IN, NIGHT FINDS ITS FOOTING by Luther Hughes
What’s that story about the blackbird visiting a man, or, more accurately, his depression? Making him recognize it, I mean. It was often like that with birds, reminding you of your flightlessness. It was like that, then more so, then only that. I’m doing as much as I can these days despite thinking about what…
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LAMENT FOR SOME OTHER SAIGON by Sarah Audsley
My father taught me feet are something to care for, cradle. He never talks about anything else. I remind people my Dad’s age too much of hot, sticky, high green foliage flapping in their faces, or steam rising up from the rice paddies the platoons waded through all morning, crossing in the open, barrels loaded,…
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TO MY CHILD BEFORE SHE ARRIVES by Brian Simoneau
There is a man you will learn to call uncle. He will teach you the answer to many questions is land bridge. There will be truth in what he says. He will call you something other than your name no matter what your name is. No matter what your name is…
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SUMMONS by Jess Smith
I used to call boys after my parents passed out, my lethal friend Meredith daring me to phone Patrick or Michael and ask what they were wearing. One boy, Joey,…
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THINGS THAT FOLD by Karisma Price
~after Jamaal May My father’s voice after the cancer has spread. A flip phone. A flag. George Bush’s hands, as he pauses his vacation briefly for thoughts and prayers. My body next to the potted plant after my father throws the wooden chair. A cheaply made chair. A small stack of clothes. A birthday card.…
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THREE POEMS by Jessica Hincapie
ON THE ONE HAND, IN THE OTHER Sometimes when you are born from an abundance of love you, yourself, do not know the proper ways in which to love. Your house guests are always at odds with your house ghosts. The stairwell constantly littered with tin cans and lynched cats. Obvious death threats, but from…
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THREE POEMS by Alyssa Beckitt
ME TOO I’ve crawled in the deep grooves of man’s thumbprint – My crescent roll smile peaking up over their canyon begging to be devoured. Be nice Mama said, be welcoming – His hand up my skirt, he wore me like a secret trophy behind the glass case of his pupils. I scrape my remains…
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LAUGHTER IS CLOSE by David Rivard
Laughter is close, even if it’s just the schadenfreude of middle-school girls, their juicy, eye-rolling, malicious glee flying down the street (like a tiny pink slug in a pigeon’s beak), hotting up the air—why pretend you can’t hear? Laughter, the only eternity that’s real. Laughter and its toothy lift off, even when toxic. “Save me”…
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AMERICAN LOVE SONG: OMAHA NEBRASKA by Brionne Janae
~for Will Brown because you were beautiful and black with lips like pin cushions and just as soft because you were made to be pierced to be torn apart to be a mooring for desire and how else could I touch you could I unwrap your figure pull the meat from parchment how else could…