On a muggy August night
soundtracked by cicada choruses
we speak in nods and murmurs
as the children cling,
sleep-warmed weights against our shoulders.
The sprinkler system stutters its hello.
Later with drinks on the patio
We’re going home for the holidays in our December issue. But what is home? And how do we get there anyway? Our crop of writers is conflicted about the nostalgia of homecoming and the sometimes dark places the …
EMILY AS THE MODERN WORLD
Emily is water
& the distraction
My mouth is
because of Emily,
but because of her
I have swallowed
EMILY AS A RED BIRD IN A …
At five o’clock on a Tuesday I met my friend Mark at Piccadilly. He’d been in the Scottish Highlands; I’d been in Paris. He still talks about how strange it was to be in another country and …
At fifteen my mother curled inwards,
dredging up pearl and brine
from the sewer she kept in her stomach.
She painted worlds like liquid skyscrapers
and suckered poems onto her wrists like barnacles.
I was fourteen when …
A few months before my breakdown I sat down across from Alex in the library. Senior year. I was skipping gym; she was in a study period, studying.
“Hey Dyke,” I said. “How’s being gay so far?”…
We slid in our seats,
grips slipped violently
from poles as the train
without the measured slow
to the station
In the last cart
we looked through windows
to graffiti tunnels,
waiting for the whir…
On Monday, Brad came home from work humming to himself, but at the path to his door, the hum drained to silence. The sun was low and weak, the sky thinly washed in purple, making the picture …
Thump, thump. I edged back as the trickle of water slipped beneath the door. This trickle was joined by another and, like a group of black snakes, the water slithered forward, pushing us further into the small …
When I finally got around to walking into the kitchen I found the dinner table set and undisturbed. The condiments and all were just sitting there, lonely, and the room resembled a scene staged from New Mexico …