by Lindsay Surmacz
“Your strength is what made you The Great One./ Not the might that scarred the sky three thousand times,/ but the will that forged broomsticks and soup cans/ into silver scepters and golden gloves.”
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by Erin Hyatt
Here, it is always 1985.
There is spoiled chicken
salad on the patio furniture;
there are apricots
rotting on the ground.
I sink my teeth into July,
and boil orange fruit to the bone
on a gasoline fire that stinks
like rust. Just down the road,
an old tractor hums back to life.
by Tresa Murphy Green Did you know what it meant to the ocean when you ran from its tide? When fear exacerbated your motions & the salt waters were too vast to hide did you know […]
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by Kayla Sargeson White car/no “Lyft” sticker. He bops his head to his friend’s mixtape, some wannabe Lil Pump shit. Do you want a donut? he says. Hands me a yellow store bag, cold maple donuts […]
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by Christina Springer A night manager accepts the moon’s detritus fills ‘n empties her. In battered women’s West Virginia, my shelter is deep down the hollow’s gaping crack. Past trailers like lice, crab grass, on blocks […]
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by James Croal Jackson Death is in the shriveled blue and purple hydrangea bouquet I gifted you. Kathy bought the same, smaller, but they did not last so much as linger. Mom calls me from Macy’s— […]
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by Gwendolyn A. Mitchell Every once in a while, I get lost in the winter evening just after dusk. I am Downtown waiting for the 82 Lincoln, standing across the street from what should be Gimbels […]
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