The night is a painting on the shore of my mind. It teeters on the edge like a cliff being swallowed by water. My body being eaten by the...

Memory will rust and erode into lists --John K. Samson She once wrote why she loved me. She didn’t write it in a letter or a story or in...

1. You don’t know how to leave and stay gone. There are strands of your longing all over town; chalk residue on his driveway, the sticky...

Black garbage bags hide. She has uncovered family photos, kid's art projects, broken devices, uneaten food, and soiled tissues—no...

It seems to me, that when we sleep our unconscious drips. When I was a child, I always knew the forest. On school trips, I would go off...

I. I expected more desert than dripping, green oasis surprised by my own assumptions and there she was the first love of my life (after...

My Kindergarten teacher was sick. I wasn’t sure what she had, but she couldn’t teach us anymore, and a new substitute came to take her...

I. What I Read Born over one hundred years ago to a non-agricultural family in a small, hot country. Baptized seven days later in a...

we will always be /bIe/ after Tracy Jeanne Rosenthal always look at “b” for baby or bye-bye or boy. (the voiced bilabial stop of /b/ is a...

7:30 am “What’s your name for your coffee order?” She waits, expecting something she’ll misspell anyway. My government name? Nickname?...

We were paired by default, Hannah and me. That’s what happens when you’re in kindergarten and too shy to pick your own partner. Our...