Carlos Ancalmo That was the year of my magical underwear Bek Andoloro On the Seventh Day Laird Barron Abstract No. 6 Michel Cicero Ashes to Ashes Dee Cohen Lime Ave Evening Michaela A. Gabriel friday Ann Holdreith Curving Tim Jeski Requiem for a Blind Watchmaker Rick Lupert How to Kiss Kathryn Anne Lutzner the woman and the child Dorothy Doyle Mienko A Poem to My Left Breast Christopher Neenan Moonlight Kelly Pilgrim Father's Mistress Shari Diane Willardson They Put All The Round Things Together
Maryanne Hillis Del Gigante Shattered She still reckons I should work in one of the Houses so that I can hear real-life weird stuff like that and use it in my writing. I point out that if I listen to her regularly, I can have the weird stuff for my writing without having to change diapers on adults over six feet tall who want to bash me. Lad Moore The Second Birthing of Young Tim I was the stocky little captain. He was the small and frail one, looking like he had missed most of his meal calls or had drank excessively of bad goat's milk. But Bobby Pottsmith was the only other white kid anywhere around. So we became friends by default---like waking up after washing ashore together on an island beach---one having matches and the other a pocketknife. Sean McCormick Soundings Once we reach some open water, my father steps out onto the foredeck while I kick the throttle into neutral and push the worn wooden tiller until Ulysses noses her way into the wind. The breeze whips the mainsail back and forth, writhing like a great beast as it snakes up the mast until my father cleats the line down and I pull the tiller hard towards me.
Sandy Steinman Dust "The bathroom. He's giving Daisy a bath. Hear her barking? He loves that dog. He takes a bath along with her. They do everything together."
Lacey Volk Krissy B.
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