Fiction

Poetry

The Day of Our Meeting

I dreamed of the day, In the dead of winter, A dreary day, When I’d step off the train And see you there- The day

Short Story

Paper Boat

Three walls of the room are made of tin, but on the fourth side a polished floor opens, running like fabric into curtains of lace,

Poetry

What is tomorrow?

Tomorrow is that glint in your best friends’ eye, When he proposes a daring plan. Tomorrow is that rainbow glinting in the sky, Reminding you

Poetry

Godland: Sammie Jo

Sammie Jo don’t talk much. Her mother like to cut out her tongue any time she speaks up. A bone outta socket. As big as

Fiction

What I Can No Longer See

“I’m thankful I’m not a horse,” Marla says, as she reaches for the saltine sleeve inside her tote bag.