Just Tying Up Loose Ends

Poetry Issue #47


By Nadia Alexis


The ocean swallowed a father./My father’s father whole. His father ate/ too many hearts of chicken & women. He ate/his children. My father, one of them./By the time my mother & father walked…
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Poetry Issue #46

Nude Study from Life, Lee Krasner, 1938

By Lisa Beech Hartz


Crossing 8th Street in the rain Igor laughed, /
dropped your hand. I like being with an ugly woman. / Angle of the streetlight, silvering everything, even / his careless mouth. It makes me feel more handsome.
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Where it Hunts

By Kelly Weber


On a day still half-winter, I hike a trail through the short grass prairie on the edge of town named for / a woman who willed that it be preserved. Meadowlarks whistle yellow holes in the air from the posts / rising out of the ground. Ripples circle outward from the mallards floating in the shallow pools…
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For Tony


It Makes You Wait for It

By John Leonard


I feel like I’m stuck in a rural Texas town
with no gas money to get myself home,
and if I kept walking until I found a new town,
it would probably be the same town…
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Image: "Trophees by Nelly Sanchez, collage, 40x30 cm., 2018


Shoshana’s Mother

By Joshua Sassoon Orol


אמא של שושנה
How does a mother teach a son
about the body of a woman?
A teen in need of a shave
I pop open
the microwave…
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Style Central EDITED


Mother Darling Visits the States

By Alexa Doran


It’s not that the sky here isn’t blue
but that something has to asphyxiate to turn that hue.

I was so sure New England would fit like a skin… Read more

Man Mood


Obituary for Gerald

By Arjun Parikh

Gerald went by Gerald even when he was young. As a boy he set out to read the entire encyclopedia. He was adamant about doing only one thing at a time. In his twenties he played Russian roulette on Sundays… 
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The Executive Meeting


The Apologetics of Leaving

By Naomie Jean-Pierre

a leaving 

begins in the 

calluses on my feet 

calcium, hardened on my teeth 

laughter ghosts 

a smile in disguise beneath my nose… 
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Black Dog



By Kristin Macintyre

I am so far away I write you 

a postcard from the next room, 

say there is a whole 

grove of plum trees 

on the rooftop – neat little rows of stones 

fruit above the washroom… 
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Petroglyphs Blood Moon


Drape the Mirrors.

By E. Kristin Anderson

Two months had passed –  

the bed was all made; 

the doctor on the phone 

made an art of simple speech. 

Back from the dead 

a tiny voice reached… 
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