by Albert Wachtel
“Thanks.” He picked the cat up, eased it around my neck like a scarf—a boa, he called it, but it was a cat, not a snake—and we sneaked out the side door to peek at Mom. She was done walking circles and squares and stood plumb in the middle of them, whacking her left ankle. We hung by the garbage cans till she shuffled back in and slammed the door. Then we took off.
by Joan Connor
On Christmas Eve I am in Vermont on sabbatical from my teaching job in Ohio, and I receive a call from the ghost of romance past, my college boyfriend whom I have not seen for thirty years. He has a multisyllabic name. He makes me laugh. He tells me sad stories.
by Pattiann Rogers
Be is immortal, having given rise
from its immortal state to granite
and mayfly, to cod and burr, skink
and bear . . .
by Rhoda Janzen
The femoral veins refulgent
urgency hurtles crotchward
to the heavenly symphasis pubis.
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