The Problem With Amy Winehouse by John Vieira Some days I find myself missing everyone I’ve ever known, I’m sorry. I offer them my mistakes as recompense. An indicator of how hard you were hit is not necessarily the colors of your bruise. like two spread legs pointing to the…
Read MoreThis Morning by Jess Williard Muffled grind of snow plows, squirrels chirpingof discovered warmth in the walls of the house. White-packed lawns have already inflatedthe day. How open it is patterned to be filled in with cold light. How without repose. What thingsI could scare enough to crawl inside me.…
Read MoreAn Exercise in Staring at the Ceiling and Contemplating Divorce By P.L. Sanchez Focus on the fan. Watch the blades, spinning in circles. They want us to believe they’re an army. Smart. We know it’s a covert operation, a five-blade job. Those blades can spin, yes, they can. Focus on…
Read MoreTwo Poems by Jen Karetnick Marching Band Perp Walk You never forget the way you’re taught to tread: Gaze straight ahead. Limbs on alert. Feet barely lifted, a watery shuffle. Toe to heel, toe to heel, a needle through the arch, threading the seams of the path in front…
Read MoreTwo Poems by William Brown Monarchs I wanted to dust their beating wings, douse them in alcohol, press into paper, onto toothpicks stabbed in foam. But when I arrive, plastic bag tied to a stick, they ignite the hush of alfalfa, pillage the flower’s throats like boys back home who…
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