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THE END by Liu Xia

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Suddenly, you’re gone.
Two hours after entering
the hospital you took
your last breath.
This is the way you longed to die.

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INTEVIEW WITH francine j. harris

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francine j. harris is the author of allegiance (2012), a finalist for both the Kate Tufts Discovery Award and the PEN Open Book Award, and play dead (2016). She won the 2014 Boston Review Annual Poetry Prize…

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THREE POEMS by Jenny George

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DEATH OF A CHILD
This is how a child dies:
little by little. His breath
curdles. His hands
soften, apricots heavy on their branches.

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TWO POEMS by C. Dale Young

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FOR ITS BLUE FLICKERING
If you take cobalt as a simple salt and dissolve it—if you dip a small metal loop in such a solution and place it in a standard flame, it burns a brilliant blue,

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TWO POEMS by Caylin Capra-Thomas

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TIME SURE FLIES WHEN YOU’RE NOT LIVING UP TO YOUR POTENTIAL
So, everything failed. The jabbed-iron trees flamed out in spectacular failure along the ragged range. Forecast failed…

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THE OCEAN INDOORS by Bonnie Jo Stufflebeam

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Remember that time the ocean came in through my bedroom window? Remember that time I woke up choking on sea salt spray, my bed a boat on the sea that had replaced the stained gray carpet?

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THE HOTEL by John Poch

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He got out of his truck and composed himself. His new white shirt stuck to his lower back where he’d been sweating against the vinyl seat. She was in the hotel up there, and she might be looking down.

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ISO by Sophie Klahr

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wanted: a width, a girth. vessel me, burden me, break me into bearing:
take this sluice to be swollen, worn, heavy in gait, o
give me a heft to hold…

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BROWNING UP NICELY by S.M. Brodie

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The 1970’s were full of firsts for many people. Richard Nixon became the first president to resign from office. Raul Castro became the first Latino to hold the office of Governor in the great State of Arizona.

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TWO POEMS by Marlin M. Jenkins

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DRINKING GAME

When the pastor spits
while sputtering any
variation of God’s name.

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FIVE STORIES by Karen Brennan

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THE CORPSE AND ITS ADMIRERS
The coffin is grey with gold curlicues at the corners, at each of the four corners, although we only see two from where we are sitting with our mother.

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TWO POEMS by Tyree Daye

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SAME OAKS, SAME YEAR
My cousin kept me and his little brother saved me from our uncle’s pit bull, then spent seven years in prison for his set. Every other word he said was blood.

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