Fiction

Poetry

Your voice alights on my armhair, a whiff of cigar smoke— caramel, and ghostly— “Cities die; let them.” Black thing to say. I patter

Robert Eric Shoemaker

Poetry

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

Fiction

How do you photograph silence? Is it represented by an empty room? A sleeping baby? A seascape?

Constance L. Lieber

Confessional

I thought of someone else while I kissed my boyfriend. “I did that once,” I said. “Oh no you didn’t.” said Heather. She’s the girl

Kelly Anderson

Poetry

Floral straight jackets hiding women
It’s too pretty to get dirty.

Neth Brown

Fiction

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