Fiction

Poetry

In our attic, among things, as it seems of past lives, lives a bitter God. When guests come to our house, we don’t mention him.

Ernad Osmic

Poetry

maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge; a mantra to be ruminated over like a submerged leek becoming tender in warm water. as it seems

Dr. Ernest Williamson III

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

Fiction

Improv class was how
I learned to say what
I wanted to say to you–

James Croal Jackson

Short Story

When Frances had to speak publicly, her legs shook. As a kid, she had grown faster up than she had out and she had felt

Kyra Baldwin

Poetry

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

Amara Nova