The Babysitter

Jameson Fitzpatrick Years later, I ride my bike past his house and he’s washing his car in the driveway, the garden hose coiled at his feet, suds running up his arms. (Is his shirt off, or do I imagine that later, in the shower?) I’m surprised at how handsome he is. I’m eleven now, which… More

Wherever You Are Calling From

Pamela Gross Loud in my ear, the boom of waves against breakwater, gusts that finger some storm-strung windharp as you hold your phone’s receiver out the hotel window to share a gale blowing strong, late at night, off the North Sea of Aberdeen. Wakened, wool-eyed, from sleep, I hear your voice: lost along a highway… More

A Firm Manshake (or a case of turbulence)

Bogar Alonso Shear the wool off sky and man quiver s exposed to the mandible of monstrosities. From above, any pinnacle looks small. Staring down the chute of possibility what is determined is that culture is nothing more than fuzz on a peach. Look heavenward to little specks of source material – that no king… More

Field Guide

Pamela Gross It said, Study the map. I did. I accepted the dare of the rugged terrain. Careful, always, not to crush the tender, abundant mosses adorning some stones much as wool dresses the boulder-stolid backs of sheep. The surface was mostly steep slope, cliff-face, and scree; often, hard to find footholds. Above, grew small… More

Simon Perchik, Celestial Recess 3

Simon Perchik While the sun spreading out in the light from your shirt wrung dry, its cuffs rolled back –shores are born this way reaching around, even here its sleeves are still visible and in your eyes that first emptiness in all directions at once :light takes forever now looks for you as if it… More

Simon Perchik, Celestial Recess 2

Simon Perchik You wipe the way the moon once warmed the Earth caressed your arm with shapelessness and the fever left over from some fiery beginning half shoreline, half waves still flaring out staking their claim and memory –inside this path a brain, left behind to deal with the scent smoldering leaves give off –you… More

Simon Perchik, Celestial Recess 1

Simon Perchik Its power comes from this froth –never mind there’s no caldron to make sense, you drink listening to bubbles work a cure are healed when the fountain touches you, smelling from gauze and nursing homes –the old have no choice, they let the faucet run and for a while wait at the sink… More

The Credits Say 15th Elf

Chloe N. Clark He was cast as a minor Elf, the one always at the edge of the frame, running into battle or contemplating grave proclamations. His children tried to find him, point him out with ecstatically jabbing fingers, but they were always wrong. Years later at a bit players’ convention he laughed with extra… More

He Was Always Almost Something

Chloe N. Clark Sometimes he’d write words on blackboards solely because he liked the way chalk dust softened his fingertips, paled them into some color not quite living. Once he ate earth, accidentally almost, it tasted bitter rich like too dark chocolate drenched in coffee grounds or ash. He never drank flames, though he meant… More