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We Two Alone Will Sing

by Sheena Sauls

The gulls flew south into the valley that fall, gossamer fog tied to their tails, and were caught up in the walnut trees like the memory of some destructive force—the ash that turned everything concrete when the mountains caught fire, or pools of condensation left by half-empty bottles after a fight. I sat on the hood of our yellow rusted Pinto and watched them arrive, the gulls, and they live in every drawing I made that year, childish bruised lipstick stains circling the Sierras.

We drove in circles through the valley that fall, watching the light all turn fluorescent, and I bit my lip when mother hit Route 6, heading north instead of our street. She shook me awake at the cape, bought two coffees, and didn’t brush the sand from her jeans. On the hood of the Pinto she poured from her bottle into both paper cups, and we watched the sun being born from its place just out in the water.

News

Congrats to Christopher Allen for having a work from HOUSEHOLD TOXINS being chosen to appear in BSF 2019 from Sonder Press.

Check out the write-up of the journal in The Writer.

New titles available from Robert McBrearty and Tori Bond.

Submissions

Poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction/prose poetry submissions is now OPEN. Check out our new category triptychs! The submission period closes December 15, 2019; submit here.

Upcoming

11/04 • Douglas W. Milliken
11/06 • Alouini, Olfa
11/11 • Janiru Liyanage
11/13 • Francine Witte
11/18 • Pamela Painter
11/20 • Margaret Madole
11/25 • Nancy Stohlman
11/27 • Kelsey Englert
12/02 • Tara Campbell
12/09 • Foster Trecost
12/16 • Janiru Liyanage
12/23 • Tanner Barnes
12/30 • Caroline Firme
01/06 • Meg Eden
01/13 • Daniel Galef