Fiction

Poetry

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

Robert Eric Shoemaker

Short Story

You tell her you love her the day she graduates. It’s a carefree spring morning, the perfect kind for the endurance training you sometimes did—

Natalie Wee

Poetry

Crying, I recall my father shudders, remembering tall thin men at the foot of the bed apparitions at night, faceless heads like pins, mostly arms,

Robert Eric Shoemaker

Short Story

I pursued him with a single minded determination that had been notably lacking in my previous endeavours. I wanted Richard to be mine like I

Caitriona Murphy

Fiction

I saw everyone, having fallen short, on the ground

James B. Nicola

Poetry

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