Moving on – Kelly Fitzharris, Editor-in-Chief

Sometimes we start out the New Year hungover, covered in glitter, in our own beds (somehow) having fallen asleep in party clothing.   Others, we abstain from that lifestyle altogether and don’t drink; so waking up on January the 1st  is like any other day for us, except for possible unspoken or unaddressed marital discontent….

There She Blows – by GEORGENE SMITH GOODIN

There She Blows by Georgene Smith Goodin     When dandelions go to seed, they look like full moons. Like planets. An entire galaxy dots your yard, begging to be explored. You blow on one, wishing you could travel in space. You wish for a puppy, and that Jimmy Balducci would change schools. Your father…

God’s Boy – by JON FERN

God’s Boy For my Mother He is loved by omission Who, through heaven’s hot-white eye, Stutters in the lost hills Without his whole heart. Till someone taps the glass He shall not move – He will work in the tank, Or he will not feed, And he will not be fed. This is the fulcrum…

Fawn – by ANI KEATEN

Fawn   You will remember this as the most obedient relationship, most quiet, complacent, cooperative couple, most easily categorized roles. You will look back on pristine arms touching, hair falling in your face, sun in your eyes, and wonder how did they ever manage to love? How did the two in this picture, so deadpan,…

The Darkness Game – by KATE MURDOCH

The Darkness Game   It was a combination of things. His name, Louis. His nose, broken when he was thrown over the handlebars of his bike aged five and landed face first on the asphalt. The sad fact of a somewhat missing chin. They called him ‘Frankenstein’ and the name stuck. Soren was his one…

Onion Man – by CRYSTAL SNODDON

Onion Man   Introduced by gentle touch to dry cinnamon-stick skin that crisply cracks in fault lines shifted by smiling eyes. Sniff the exuding wafts of recognition, of bare fear, of wakened pheromones dancing in a hand shake.   Fingerlings, rooting trust finds softened common ground, thawing warmth. A natural flush of maturation, mellowed layers…

Hyperplasia – by MATT ALEXANDER

  Hyperplasia by Matt Alexander   What is not benign when it is tiny?  The most heinous villain who ever lived was surely not so imposing as he nursed, was he?  Similarly, a stolen glance that cannot be acted upon can only be described as innocent.  Perhaps.  But then it may begin to grow, a…