Latest Writing
POETRY
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ELEGY WITH SHOTGUN by Anna Claire Hodge
Once you warmed the shower wall with water before pressing me against it. Some nights, the bed was feverish heat. You, a man burning, as the sheets twisted into peaks not from our lovemaking, but nightmares.
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WRONG ABOUT THAT by Paul Beilstein
I thought my sadness was a moron’s elbow. Thought I could offer it a salve, or the comfort of a well-worn arm-chair. I thought I could buy a corduroy shirt and wash it the exact right number of times.
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TWO POEMS by Jane Wong
BREAKER-OF-TREES My mother cuts the legs off a moving crab. The legs curl in a bucket washed to garbage to sea. When I come home, I tread water on the carpet
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