East River Park

Tim Keane praise dusk when that rare drifting clod tastes like sugar and the oak’s champagne branches carve round brown troughs for milk when my skin smells of the pocked field’s muddy cadences—its song, its chord, its strum praise the bridge-tower that slopes over the blond shoulder of a runner as the pale blue struts… More

Strangers

Renee Evans At the breakfast table, Grace sits eating instant oatmeal she warmed in the microwave all by herself. The fake peach scent makes her stomach turn a little, but this is the only thing she knows how to fix and her mother—Diane—isn’t around to prepare anything for her, again. Her father, Frank, is in… More

The Dancing Bear

Julie Innis Because the dog sleeps all day, she’s awake all night, whining at both sides of their bed, high and plaintive, punctuated by the rolling of her ball and the clicking of her nails on the wooden floor. Sometimes the ball rolls under the radiator or the bureau or the bookcase they found outside… More

Pretty Feet

Russell Evatt He slips her toes into his mouth then slowly slides them out. No. He guides her toes, with the unshaven hair of her big toe tickling his upper lip, into his mouth. “The cemetery is busiest on Mother’s Day,” she says, sitting naked on the tub’s glistening edge. “You’d know if you’d been.”… More

Fields Almost Like Love

Lindsay Wilson The light on the ground here flickers like flames burning across this patio, where birds peck then look me in the eye. I wish I could live off so little, crumbs and glances that weigh almost nothing, but I’d fail like light imitating fire. The newspaper tells us the new death toll and… More

Truth in Sutures

Holly Day there is a Madonna in my veins but I can’t figure out which one she’s in. opening them one by one seems futile. there is still something holy left in me but I don’t know which bone it’s buried in. it hurts when I burn holes in myself, and I’m still not even… More

On a Darkened Sky

Tasha Cotter Let the legs be untrained. Hands, too. I hope the drops fall weightless, going forth from each unstructured arm that soon clenches. Let each thought be aimless like my stories. This body, this rain doesn’t know God, but it hears great things as it pools in the concrete whose foreignness troubles birds. Tasha… More

Mute

Janani Vijayakumar I made love to you one night and came back feeling as beaten as the bus I sat in. I held on to the frayed seat, stared out the window, and felt my fingers numb. Hidden away like a sin, I wait for you. Come, suck the sweetness out of me. Drink me,… More

Carpeting the Stones

Tobi Cogswell Our apologies linger unspoken and large, I no longer remember the origin of hurt. Please tell me which is the way to forgiveness? I look out the window, I say “Tree, tell me a secret”. I am half-poised on the brink of treasure and don’t know which way to turn. Water rushes across… More