Category / Issue 01

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  • Postcard From Santorini – Wilda Morris

    A whitewashed village with narrow cobblestone alleys and blue-domed churches rises from the cliffs above the caldera’s rim. I try to name all the hues of the lagoon: cobalt, azure cerulean, sapphire,…

  • We Are The Universe Noticing Itself – Kevin Brown

    and we notice our bellies and thighs, breasts and butts, the way body parts push and pull against gravity, curve space and time and we notice everything our spouse didn’t say do…

  • Song For A Rainy Evening – Taunja Thomson

    Wings and horns of stone above a cornice: a gray morning trudges into a wet afternoon which ambles into a cool humid twilight. The lights below are blurred by rain, the stars…

  • What Is Left – Julie Wenglinski

    A stew of leaves and cones and seeds, starry yellows, pear shapes, gold coins, torn hearts flock against the fence, a tumble of color. And when the trees are bare with nothing…

  • Grace – Jennifer Lagier

    Unsettled skies part, spill celestial rays, illuminate shabby barn, dust-shrouded orchard. Brief illusion bestows grace upon mortal confusions: approaching death, confused grief, jarring passage of seasons. From her hospital bed, mom feels…

  • Home From The War – James Stoner

    I am just four and look up from the floor at my Uncle Gary’s chin. On his face he has a long, wide scar from hand-hand combat with a Viet Cong. He…

  • Symbiosis – Gregory Kimbrell

    Nothing that she could do could so much as scratch the green-tinted glass. Thus does she wait at the long table, laid with jellied cuts of plesiosaur from the final banquet, beside…

  • Abandonment – Gregory Kimbrell

    They believe that what they really want is just to go on living in the salty estuary waters, but for too long they have watched the limestone tower, its completion and the…

  • Trouncing Turner – Fiona Sinclair

    At first an exile’s tone when you recall Whitstable’s Turner painted sunsets admired each evening from sash windows in your old flat with ‘best view in town’ of sea. Decades working and…

  • Running From My Father’s Death – David Sullivan

    Pulling myself up the steep embankment after the running trail I’d been on petered out, turned upwards, died in a ferny patch, I use the trunks of trees to counter the downhill…