Our father is a woodcutter driven to drink, and when he drinks he likes to talk.
The spears, the spires I aspired to be as reaching because what
did you know about tapers.
Out of oxygen, algae, and a grain of calcium carbonate, the oyster came to be.
It is November.
I am mining crystal geodes
from the dead
With submission season close at hand, we thought it a good time to give you all a little glimpse into the people behind the curtain.
The dream collectors’ truck stopped at each house on our street. There was a system: Mondays recycling, Tuesdays dreams, Wednesdays general trash.
It’s time for an update on where we stand, and where we’re headed next.
Our heartiest congratulations to Eric Schlich, winner of the prose contest, and Mary Haidri, winner of our poetry contest!
More than once there was a soon-to-be-old woman who had a loaf of bread, held it in her hands she did, and it was inconvenient to have a loaf of bread always sitting in her hands…