Drive by Joel Peckham A Ghazal For My Son, on the 20th anniversary of the death of his mother and brother. I can’t grip the wheel of any car without the neuropathic burn of each long drive—that rusted Corolla swallowing 500,000 miles of road. My hip screaming. “The...
3 Poems by Christine E. Hamm [exorcism and purificatory rituals]* Look through the mesh — today the sky is white. Nine signifies judgement day in Islamic Number Theory. Rain yesterday; we imagined the drops cold, hard, sometimes soft. The green was throbbing. ...
Brave Woman Keeps Wolves from Body of Dead Husband ¹ by Ryan Burruss The September night was cool without being cold, and as she paced through the amber firelight, an unwelcome, wayward word alighted on her tongue: pleasant. Disgusted by the sentiment, she dragged her...
Past in Prints by Shraya Singh Sumie tells us it’s time to test our cups. She pours cardamom tea into each one, the mosaic of never-used post-glaze pottery catching the light that streams in through the window, a single ray refracted in the soft brown stream of tea...
Kathy, I’m Lost by Scott Nadelson Blame it on Simon & Garfunkel. Bookends was playing in the coffee shop where he stopped most mornings on his way to work, or maybe just Greatest Hits. In either case, those lyrics about laughing on the bus followed by...
