Fiction

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

James Croal Jackson

Poetry

She cornered herself against the shoulders of two meeting walls and wrote her screams into the plaster. The sun was a blade against her skin

Valentina Cano

Short Story

Bloated clouds float above the prison, obscuring the sun. I linger outside the narrow cell window, which is no more than a barred gap in

Eileen Herbert-Goodall

Poetry

I. I see a video of women cycling in short dresses talking of how not to flash. They wide-angled their legs, pull the back of

Rochelle Potkar

Poetry

Outside my window there is steam
and there are lights in a skyscraper
where people sit at their desks
and the lights let them work.

Alan S. Kleiman

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