Poems- by Prerna Bakshi

What’s the name of your pind? (First published in The Ofi Press)   He asks me which pind do I belong to? Confused, I respond by telling him the names of my grandfather’s and grandmother’s village. He interjects, her’s not necessary. Your belonging, your identity, your pind is traced through the pind of your father…

Poems- Yuan Changming

The Inner Journey Legs crossed Sitting straight Still in chan meditation Upon a lotus flower Newly blossoming on my inner pond I perceive myself transforming Slowly but steadily From a monstrous yellow-skinned frog Into an ever bigger, brighter Buddha Until my whole being inside out Bursts into trillions of individual cells Each being an other…

This Life- by Jeffrey Zable

This Life by Jeffrey Zable The problem with it is that too many things can go wrong when you least expect it, from a gust of wind blowing a wasp into your mouth while you’re on your way to the market to buy a loaf of bread, to tripping on a three-quarter inch sliver of poodle…

The Maiden’s Lament- by Randel McCraw

The Maiden’s Lament Heterosexual, employed, and not too weird— Is that too much to ask? Isn’t there someone, Somewhere, who just wants a wife and kids? Let me tell you about my last few dates. First, a guy who asked me to keep his dog While he went to visit his former wife. Looking back,…

Poems- by Stephen Mead

Detonations Whale at a submarine—- Dear deep mariner, what do you hear? Is it people milling about, snoring bunkmates or busy machinery, the beeping meter’s pop? If you can, to that porthole, put an eye, look around. Are you interested?  Does it make sense? How I wish I could read your thoughts, become some medium…

Poems- by Soodabeh Saeidnia

A Sun in a Puddle The day before yesterday A glorious bright yellow sun tiptoed on the sleepy horizon and fell into a turbid puddle The puddle wondered if it’s going to dawn again Yesterday A puddle swallowed a dismissing sun and started to blaze to laser-cut the eyes who was wondering if it’s going…

THE BOX- by Don Tassone

The Box by Don Tassone He was on his way home from baseball practice when he spotted it between the Asher’s garbage cans and the curb. It was a wooden box, about two feet long, a foot and a half wide and a foot and a half deep.  It had a brass handle on top,…

SHADOW STAINS- by Matthew Corkins

Shadow Stains by Matthew Corkins Chubby tricycle girl disappeared during a dry spell. My house didn’t have A/C: I drank Corona on the porch, watched their house. I used to see her riding on our street, never could tell how old she was, barely knew she was a girl, being obese, going around shirtless. She could’ve…

Poems- by Matthew Johnson

Your Stories   Bring me your stories, and I will be your keeper of tales.   From your towers damselled in distressed, Let me scribble not theirs, but your escaped lores and fables.   Away from everywhere, in the midst of this empty, plastic domain, Paint me your passionate parables impressed on your purpose For…

Kane’s Dad- by Jim Gibson

Kane’s Dad by Jim Gibson Like all of us, Kane didn’t see his Dad much. So, when he came to pick him up for a day at Skegness, we were all sat on the wall to see him. We all made big statements about our dads (how they chain-smoked fags, were on the run from the…

Lambkins- by April Bradley

Lambkins by April Bradley Our mother’s memories glide and scrape into one another and make new stories, remake us all. We are lambskin parchment she inscribes and illuminates over and over, palimpsests, not children. Our mother places her cigarette in the ashtray preparing once again to burnish us with ash. She whispers, “That’s not what happened.”…

Just Short of the Line- by Frank Light

                                                           Just Short of the Line by Frank Light The national highway that led east from Jalalabad continued south of and parallel to the Kabul River until, some sixty kilometers later, each approached the border with Pakistan. The river then bent north before easing down to its junction with the Indus. The road veered in the…