We sat on a couch for wallflowers who sipped their drinks. She struck me as old-fashioned. Like she would have ridden a bicycle sidesaddle if she could. Outside, a blizzard banged at the windows. (more…)
The heart is a gas tanker truck (more…)
by Maureen Alsop
Her yellow slicker, the one that leaked, hung from the coat rack by the front door. Sarah was alone, the living room silent except for the spilling rain, its pitter-patter in the morning light, the streaks of water across the floor.
You said you wouldn’t. (more…)
Poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction/prose poetry submissions are now open. Check out our new category triptychs! The submission period closes December 15, 2108; submit here.
09/17 • Nance Van Winckel
09/24 • Wendy Barker