Author: admin

A GOOD STINK BY ANDREW PELFINI

Her front door was glistening from the varnish on the dark wood that reminded me of a church door. There was a small window towards the top and a black iron handle. I tapped my foot on the top step that looked like it was made...

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A CROW’S DEMISE BY SUZANNE NIELSEN

More and more things seem off kilter. For instance, yesterday I watched a crow cannibalize another, an unusual characteristic even for birds carrying a grudge, but to watch a crow behead another made me realize more is amiss...

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SAWDUST PEOPLE BY SUZANNE NIELSEN

My neighbor has no clue what happens when he closes his eyes at night and the sawdust people appear, quiet and unprotected, ready to dance and twirl their weightless particles throughout his barren land throwing tulips high into...

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THE MAN ON THE STEPS BY SUZANNE NIELSEN

There he sat, smug, anointed, and oblivious to the cold yet a coat of dampness clung to his ruddy skin while he muttered and spit into the silent snow watching it sink deep into the contours of whiteness as re-tied his shoes in...

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I AM SPLIT WIDE OPEN BY JENNIFER GURNEY

I am split wide open on view for all to see and yet I am me in this state of true vulnerability I experience your words my skin is gone and I am but a beating heart and open soul the art, poetry, musi impacts me even deeper...

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SEABORNE BY LUCIA HAASE

Frothed in pomp, the illimitable sea spires in glad precipitance, upheaving deep channels heaping, breakers restless free as in my long thought, blazonries weaving. Unrelenting processions, murmurings satiate sand, fleece like...

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AI ME BY ED MCMANIS

Has more hair, less cellulite, believes—surprisingly— in God, Old Testament Jehovah, human sacrifices, yet still intones LGBTQ+. AI Me, 20 years hence looks like Keith Richards, plays seven instruments half- stoned, songs in...

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EDITORS EAT WHITE CAKE BY ED MCMANIS

My editor likes white space, lots           of           it like whipped cream on a short cake. She used to be a writer but then she got married. Her first born, dyslexic, needed a special school, picture books. This was before...

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EDITORS AS MENTORS BY ED MCMANIS

My editor suggests that I might need therapy. It’s a polite suggestion, the way you might place a deodorant stick on a co-worker’s desk. She left me a yellow Post-it note on my latest chapter, the big turn where my protagonist,...

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OVERDUE BY ED MCMANIS

My brother reading Chomsky acts like he understands but I know he’s been stuck in the same chapter since college, his desk littered with library postcards requesting its return. And my older sister says she’s almost finished her...

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