Fiction

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

Amy Lerman

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

Fiction

My first real breath of air smells of pine and woodsmoke. It comes to me on a cool breeze, mid-afternoon, a sunny day that

Emma Kath Cullen

Short Story

Back home, my sister’s bedroom overlooked our back deck. She could climb out her windowsill and drop down a few feet onto the wooden planks

Allison Sobczak

Fiction

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

Constance L. Lieber

Fiction

Angie was the type of car people kept in antique store backyards ‘cause they thought she looked cool, “There ain’t nothing like a Classic Chevy.”

Elise Kelly