Sunday Waves by Jose Hernandez Diaz I was at the beach painting a surfer riding a wave onto a canvas when suddenly the ocean water from the painting splashed onto my toes. The surfer came to life in front of my atheist eyes, only, as it turns out, he was the statue...
Marauder by Sara Burge Sara Burge Sara Burge is the author of Apocalypse Ranch (C&R Press) and her poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming from Virginia Quarterly Review, Prairie Schooner, The American Journal of Poetry, Atticus Review, Cimarron Review, River...
I call and tell my mother I’m cutting my hair + A Love Poem to Cockroaches by Samantha Padgett I call and tell my mother I’m cutting my hair and she tells me she hopes I’m okaywith it looking bad. Here’s the thing:the sun in winter is still hot, and I’mone January...
Wild by Anna B. Sutton back home a bearcrossed the parking lot of a local bowling alley and the town went wild we aimed cameras at our backyardslike birds of prey we craned our necks while driving scanned the woods along the interstatefor a telltale...
Notes About the Butterflies, the Moth, and the Sadness by Triin Paja I place a small tortoiseshell in a matchbox, beside the three others. It is the saddest matchbox I know. At night, I touch my ear against it. A silence. I believed there was poetry in their nearness....
