Bones – by Natalie Crick

Bones I have to go back. I have to keep searching   For something alive Among the dead.   I am yet undecided How to arrange   Her bones. I want to conjure   The dark red throbbing heart. Regrow her hair and teeth   The way they used to be. Her legs are in…

Yorick / God and Murder – by Paul Ilechko

Yorick   The children kick the skull down the road. It’s how they play football in a war zone. Alas, poor Yorick. We never knew him, or the million others who, like him, lost their heads to violence in these years of murder and disgrace.   Alas poor Yorick. Perhaps you were an intellectual, targeted…

Bloodmilk / Ghostly Garden – by Avalon Graves

BLOODMILK Spidersilk forms as you exhale, words woven to invoke as you levitate through this plane, effortless. Feral female energy pours from the core of your breast; bloodmilk spills abundantly careless and vital. You resurrect barren lands, your eyes feed. Your smile satiates. Thunder strikes, crowds throw shade, you make lemonade (sage and spirit personified…

Mirror – by Jeremy Spears

*** Jeremy Spears’s poems have appeared such publications as The Green Mountains Review, Five2one, The MockingHeart Review, The Furious Gazelle and Wordgathering. He is a recipient of the David Lindahl Prize from the JWR. He lives and works in Phoenix, Arizona.

The Library Tale – by Ray Busler

She lay upon a couch of deeply tufted leather; leather dyed a color darker than spilled burgundy, lighter than clotted blood.  Although the air in the study was almost chilling, a thin film of perspiration formed on her back, buttocks and thighs.  This effect, more of adhesion than lubrication, held her transfixed to the smooth…

Yard Dog – by Matthew Lyons

Later, they find him innocent, but that’s not the most important part.  He’s wearing his same brown suit with the ochre tie on the last day and when they finally read out the verdict, he doesn’t look at his lawyer or at the empty seats where his family ought to be or even at the…

The Adirondacks – by Marina Rubin

What do I remember about that day? That I was closer to God? That I was good? That I did what any good daughter would do? I was so preoccupied with my trip to the Adirondacks that I didn’t notice how pale my father was, sitting in the kitchen, rubbing his stomach and sighing; or…

Smolder – by DENNIS FRIEND

Smolder By Dennis Friend       “What was your girlfriend’s name?” Konni had been reading the newspaper when she glanced up slowly and stared at me. I could not read the look on her face. What an odd question, I thought. Konni knew her name. In the 40-plus years we’ve been married, Konni has…

One Secret Thing – by DONNA DALLAS

  One Secret Thing   Live in this they said as they placed me neatly onto the pink rose-budded bedspread in the room with white and more white so I would be well and release festering thoughts that wake me in the night sweating thick to the point of oil shaking to some madness of…

Still in Your Fingertip – by ROB PARRISH

Still in Your Fingertip We are in bed and you start a message on my back. You move your right index finger at a controlled pace. First a T, then H. Next an I. A slow-curling S follows. Your finger drags off my back. I say the word into the bedding. You tap my back…

I Want a Wife – by CONNIE BEDGOOD

I Want A Wife By Connie Bedgood   Men want wives. As I mow my back yard, I, too, would like to have a wife.  Why do I want a wife?  She can help do the yard work.  In fact, while I go to the gym, she can put out the trash a couple of…