Volume I, Issue I
By Bradley Sides
Peaches sat alone on her front porch. Although the rain splattered against her face and onto her thick, gray-rimmed glasses, she didn’t go inside. She insisted on greeting the child. There had been no phone calls or letters announcing the arrival. Still, she knew, so she waited.
By Jeffrey Bolden
“I see my Blade has fallen in love with the Hand of God. ” Blu stooped in the canopy of cherry blossoms. The pink petals disguised the silhouette of an assassin unseen in the summers of Corruption, U.S.A. It was one of those rare days where happiness accompanied heat.
By Alex DiFrancesco
There at the end, we took up a collection of all we had left. Gone were the makeshift explosives that had derailed the train, the bullets that had cut down the soldiers who tried to escape, gone was our hope we would make it the six months lifespan our dearest had. What we had left amounted to some lint, a hard biscuit that we fought for crumbs of, a penny someone had pulled off a dead eye, and our monsters.
By Heidi Czerwiec
With adoption, the issue of labor is an issue of labor. When the birth mother Kinzey agrees to meet me and Evan, and throughout her pregnancy, she’s a struggling single mom working at Subway, a fast-food job in a right-to-work state that depresses wages, keeps its workers depressed, oppressed, pressed for cash and any benefits.
By Shaun Turner
Each year, in a symbolic gesture, the president pardons two turkeys. Last year, President Obama granted two, Tater and Tot, the stay. This year, Donald J. Trump pardoned Drumstick and Wishbone. Together, the four will live the rest of their lives on the campus of Virginia Tech, to be able to gobble among the other lucky ones. Like many symbolic gestures, the meaning is cloudy.
By Sheila Squillante
Greenland sharks flourish in the waters around Iceland. They move through the northern Atlantic and Arctic oceans, huge and old and slow as mountains. Approaching the heft of the Great White, they eat whatever they want—apex predator/crafty scavenger—and could eat you, too, but for the icy, inhospitable habitat they prefer that keeps you mostly out of their way.
I’m not supposed to know it,
The name for this place—
We put our noses down into the plumbing code,
Heavy books in this sixth grade classroom,
November already, and the ornamentals are done,
Their lush greens gone, bleached into harsh stalks,
By Robert Walicki
This is not a Wyoming
love story. There are
There is a single road.
Where it leads, you already know.
Alabama, the middle of summer,
somewhere near Birmingham.
By Aden Thomas
Piling rocks isn’t so hard. You do the same thing
One wheelbarrow after another.
Gather up the cobwebs in your hands;
Throw them in the pile. The wind
Days so hot even the earth seems
To turn away from the sun and say enough.
By Danielle Hanson