Fiction
Poetry
Lascaux is Burning
The first art Was not art, Rather, a color line shot through the dark, No more expression Than a plea for explanation. The grandest monuments
Lucy Holden
Short Story
Black Shrunken Blemish
When Frances had to speak publicly, her legs shook. As a kid, she had grown faster up than she had out and she had felt
Kyra Baldwin
Fiction
Upon Impact
In the bedroom they used to share, the real estate agent opens the blinds, letting in the mid- morning sun, then walks toward the desk
Melissa Williams
Poetry
Antagonistic Environment
he swears that the desert is laughing, mocking him with the distant wail of the wind, the hoot of an owl. each spray of dry
Rachel Linton
Poetry
Opposable
How do I write with these frantic fingers Left index plugs tearing right aorta Right hand holds closed ripping left ventricle I am hopelessly, entirely
Rachel Salisbury
