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Falter by Samantha Malay

February 1, 2022

wake from summer’s sleep / to rosehip frost and cold blue skies

January 25, 2022

Rosemarie lived her life but left us with it.

January 18, 2022

I’d never seen a coast before. So. Land sometimes stops.

January 11, 2022

I will smell like gasoline until I die, and the buzzing from my phone intensifies until I can no longer enumerate my future failures.

January 4, 2022

In Yuma, our bedroom is an add-on by the garage, far away from sleeping grown-ups.

A Parisian Affair by Kevin Wranovix
Inspiration is a foggy fellow, emerging from nothing, dissipating into nothing, answering to nothing.
Our Theseus by Nathan Jefferson
Last week he was a dishwasher who his coworkers called Ricky. Today he’s a day laborer named Eddie, clearing a pair of fallen trees off a new build’s lawn and fixing up a large garden. Rotting plank ripped out, new plank inserted.
Robbing the Pillars by Marie Goyette
Ruth stood on the narrow iron bridge, gripping her father’s obsidian necklace, and wondered how many years it would take before the river wore them both down to nothing.
The Call by Eben E. B. Bein
I hungered into that quiet until— there—unbelievable!— a wolf spider scuttled onto a leaf.
Saturation by Claire Oleson
I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.