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
Volume I, Issue II
By Lori D’Angelo
I always kinda knew this, but, nonetheless, I was surprised to come home to a sign above the garage that said, “You are not the favorite daughter.” I pulled into the garage, waited, checked, and five minutes after I got home, the sign was gone. Either I imagined it, or the sign was meant for me alone.
By Leslie Doyle
Veronica hadn’t meant anything at the start. She’d been sitting in her car in the Acme parking lot. The greenhouse effect had been in full effect, and even with the windows cranked down, the air was stifling.
By Sandra Gail Lambert
A canoe width of water traced a tentative path into a field of water hyacinth. The sun glittered off thousands of wind-ruffled leaves and squat stalk supported clusters of tight buds. Ivy paddled the trail until it ended among a scattering of peat blows.
By Colin Rafferty
A country built on stolen land and by stolen labor, through revolution and annexation, the hoodwinking of governments and the overthrowing of sovereign monarchies, and still we have the gall to say that our president may forgive the transgressions of citizens. These presidents, fallible men, flawed men, men who cut backroom deals, who slandered each other, who were unfaithful to their wives and their country, who are they to bestow a pardon upon the criminals of the United States?
By Ryder S. Ziebarth
July 5th, 2016
Your mother and I are very proud of you on this day, as well as unduly impressed with your tenacity and courage in pursuing your dreams of becoming a more fully realized writer at age sixty-one.
By Michele Sharpe
Our mother told me and my sister we were about to learn a secret. She walked us to the far end of the house and nudged us into our father’s downstairs den, a sunken room where he smoked cigars and read newspapers and played out hands of bridge with himself, occasionally scratching at the bald spot on the back of his head.
The sun had burnt his hands ever so slightly,
like the colour of black tea touched by milk.
I am plagued with visions,
gifted by a ruthless illness.
By Miguel Guerreiro Lourenço
My family was poor government cheese free box of food for Thanksgiving sleeping on a cot until I was in my twenties couldn’t afford a bed roaches & rats as roommates
The whips fed on the blood of my forefather’s backs. Soaked it up like needed sustenance, leaving the drops for the soil
Through the ribbon of veins I seek my cellular relevancy my DNA an exact science the essence of me an elusive soul
The pulpit turned me away
rejected I was rejected rejected
By Shirley Jones-Luke
Do not say I wanted to lie with you
just to make an end of journeys,
Crows follow behind the summer haying,
stepping and bowing with their slow
I tried to carry your bottle of sleep,
watching as you said too much
Try not to forget
how it goes up
By Roberta Senechal de la Roche