Mansplaining – by KATE JONES

Mansplaining   I sit across from him at the restaurant table, my chin resting on my hand, trying to stifle the yawn that is desperate to escape. He has his elbows on the table (manners, I hear my mother say), and his palms are flapping around as he explains how it is. I forget what…

Brut – by KATE JONES

Brut by Kate Jones I’m 14.  I’m in love.  I’m in love with the baddest boy in school.  He sits in front of me in French.  He seems so much older than the other boys.  He’s foreign.  Ok – Irish- but he seems foreign to me.  He talks with that lilting Irish accent that sounds…

The Bus – by KATE JONES

The Bus   I stand among the groups of middle-aged parents lining the pavement beside the bus that contains their beloved offspring.  Excited faces scattered with acne and over-zealous make-up press against glass, or turn away, sharp haircuts bobbing as they talk fast and laugh with friends. I pick out your window.  You sit politely,…

My Name Is…Kate Jones – by KATE JONES

My Name Is…Kate Jones If you ask the majority of nine year olds, (and often many adults), what superhero power they’d like to have, I’ll place a bet that a lot of them will say invisibility. An invisibility cloak. It’s a fun idea, right? I always wanted an invisibility cloak as a kid. I was…

They Wait – by JOANNE SPENCER

They Wait   In line, they wait. Their souls offered up for money that has touched the lining of too many unwashed trousers. Desperate, they trade favors with a god they don’t believe in and compose promises they never intend to keep. Biting filthy nails, picking at half-healed sores or chewing on their darkly painted…

Local Band Frontman – by PREWITT SCOTT-JACKSON

Local Band Frontman   Lead singer self-described “Chupacabra Screamo” band collects abandoned Band-Aids at local playgrounds   Day-jobbing RV salesman, meticulously catalogued desk drawer housing awaits his morning return   /M. Mouse /Sponge B. /Pixar paladins /Faded neon colors   Huffing Play-Doh only gets him high on nostalgia so he drinks alone at Chili’s in…

Let’s Not Go Outside – by RUSS BICKERSTAFF

  Let’s Not Go Outside By Russ Bickerstaff Let’s say that there IS a world out there. Let’s say it’s actually resting out there beyond that door with everything we would expect out of a big, wide world outside. Let’s say that there’s a sun that sets and a moon that rises. Let’s say that…

Untitled – by Buffy the Writer

[Untitled] by Buffy the Writer   “You don’t know me, I can be anything.” Unfortunately, you can’t see how brilliant I am. The words I sling, The taboos I kill, The frailty of a poetess with the coy heart of a gei-.*   Man, you were always right about me. You know way more than you…

The Fog City – by REBECCA HARRISON

The Fog City   By Rebecca Harrison     The fields were wind-wide and empty. As Martha walked across them, fog swelled over her, smelling of damp cobwebs. She couldn’t see. She heard only distant tree drips. Deep in the fog, her hands grazed a wall which shouldn’t have been there. She took off her…

Poetry from – PATRICK WILLIAMS

On Bruno, airborne in 1916   & bro, the State forbids most disasters and poetry; at least the delightful atmosphere has not been sacrificed on the altar of an interesting little postal biography: the historical articles and illustrations of the other truth, being a book in which we say what we think to others, in…