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Issue 28 | Fall 2021

Vacío

By | Poetry

We taste transparent flames, the spices and fruits for which we have no names. Savor the bitterness of ausencia while we sever wrists. 

Issue 28 | Fall 2021

Lily

By | Poetry

Water dripped from the neighbor’s spigot as the planet held tight to its pocket of time. You told me the joke and the next day I saw tiger lilies everywhere. I wasn’t sure if I had just begun to notice them or if there had been some massive overnight planting.

Issue 28 | Fall 2021

Racing

By | Poetry

True, it’s been years since I was last in love,  since someone considered winking at me.  And years since I’ve seen anyone buried or born. 

Issue 28 | Fall 2021

The Sun As An Empath

By | Poetry

The sun shines deep his bawdy light into shrewd strangers

Issue 28 | Fall 2021

At the Holiday Inn

By | Poetry

I woke with a wet pillow and hair tangled, I didn’t care.   It was Sunday. 

Issue 28 | Fall 2021

Envy

By | Poetry

I heard an owl outside the kitchen window, winged and cloaked in velvety dark

Issue 28 | Fall 2021

The Zen of the Tree

By | Poetry

The forestry man says the tree is over three hundred years old, a sugar Maple that has been here since before the time the white man settled.

Issue 28 | Fall 2021

Blaire Road

By | Nonfiction

The road is called Blaire, and it runs through Blacklick, PA. Little Rachel divides the houses on Blaire Road into two categories: real houses, and fake houses. She lives in one of the fake houses—the kind you can put on a giant truck and haul down the highway.