Letters Written Near the End of the Cold War

Michael Tyrell I wonder if you’ve seen them on the hospital TV— children on talk shows who swear live inside them the entire populations of small countries. * Multiples, abreactions— big, formless hands make multiples, it’s like they smash a shark tank and take all the glass, then make something that walks and talks like… More

Ode to the Grandiose

Martha Serpas The time change had me up at dawn, which ordinarily wouldn’t happen. The orchard was still soggy, the elk had already been through, leaving their little Milk Duds. I missed out on the bears as well, which you’d think would have depressed me, considering I was up before the bewildering light. There were… More

You Want Me to Say It Pretty

Matthew Nienow but under the poison I was committed to I can only remember the first five minutes were so beautiful that it seems impossible how nearly I lost my own children to the woman who was willing to leave me she couldn’t hear the song I made a music I sang to the feeling… More

[In the heart of the canyon was the cause of the canyon]

Matthew Nienow In the heart of the canyon was the cause of the canyon. In the canyon of the heart was the cause of the canyon. Water traveling a gradient, my heart traveling a gradient. That the canyon walls amplified the sound was but a fact. That the fact stilled my heart was but an… More

Build, Now, a Monument

Matthew Olzmann No longer satisfied by the way time slips through his life’s work, the maker of hourglasses yearns for a change. He elects to construct a staircase instead. Rather than grains of sand, he’ll manufacture one stair after another to lament every transient second. Look at it now! It rockets upward, almost vertical, beginning… More


Elyse Fenton Let’s be a little less brave together say the zinnias to each other, heads like olive frittatas sliding unbroken across the pan. Down the block it’s chickens chickens and a ruminant wind bringing autumn back into the equation. Choose instead the tractor’s absence, bankruptcy of hives, the universe bending down to pull a… More

Black Blossom, or Dueling Landscapes

Nikki-Lee Birdsey Gorse brambles, wood ridges arranged in slant on both shed doors, v-shaped to the deck, green in corner and mist rising around small horses. I bicycle down hilled paddock; so few people, none. What is lit in other places I’ve been. Cinderblocks on the roof of a rusted-out car with overgrown, shattered windshield––could… More