Fiction

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.

Fiction

This is What You Do

I stood in my kitchen, hands slightly palsied as I poured myself a glass of water from the sink.

Short Story

In the Round Pen

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on this moment. How do I feel? What am I seeing? What am I hearing? Him.

Poetry

Kierston

Meet me in the mountains Of Oregon (Washington’s been having too many fires). It won’t be hard to find me- Just look for the earthship,