by Kate Blakinger
I catch my husband using one of my eyeliners to color in the spot where part of his eyebrow is missing, a scar from the accident three months ago. Mark snatches his hand away from his face. “Don’t you knock!” he says, his words clipped and his voice dipping low. I would have knocked, if the door hadn’t been open a crack.
by Dean Young
One hope inside dread, “Oh what the hell”
inside “I can’t” like a pearl inside a cake
of soap, love in lust in loss, and the tub
filled with dirt in the backyard restore us.
by Gregory Fraser
While you listed out my faults, I
listened in such complete agreement
that my mind felt free to wander—
by Norma Marder
I have lost my place, transplanted from a tiny island to the mainland, from a
village where my roots lie forty years deep to a village of friendly strangers, from
the open sea to a river, from wild forests and surf to a nature preserve of mowed
meadows and manicured trails. From a place where nature rules to a place where
the human hand lies on everything.
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