Sudbury Community Garden

Rage Hezekiah Sunflowers slump like drunks outside the bar, thick stalks necrotic— stripped of seeds by unfed starlings, dark birds pillaging the beds. Butternut squash hulls litter snowless soil, russet tomato skins stick to wet ground beside faded seed markers submerged in earth. February shouldn’t warm the loam, but I walk the farm with bare … Continue reading Sudbury Community Garden

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Brian Woerner My father is an echo I can neither write nor run from: bald coin in my palm, or I swim in the grooved pool of his hands. Patron saint of batting practice, paint your shaving cream self-portrait in the clouded bathroom mirror. Stay with me. Don’t come any nearer. from Issue 31.1 BRIAN … Continue reading Icon

Fresno

Michela L. Garabedian In San Joaquin Valley all the pretty girls wear yellow dresses. They wear yellow and pick chilies until their hands stain red. In San Joaquin Valley it never rains, though pretty girls would look awfully pretty in yellow dresses in the rain. In the backyard in my underwear and black training bra … Continue reading Fresno

PARTICIPATION

S. Brook Corfman Do you know what it is to absence? How the moon curls away from itself into the blanket of sky? Look in turn at each exile, how each alone returns to the house, if each returns. The calendar's pages fall all out of order and even the fruit supports the war. Israel … Continue reading PARTICIPATION

PROSOPOPOEIAN

S. Brook Corfman O bright box, ripping, M. Moore wrote red flowers will not make red wine but I tried anyway, pressed them and ate them with eggs for breakfast. Counterintuitively, particularly bright colors often last longer than "regular" colors when left in the sun; it is not about intensity—there is less fading because the … Continue reading PROSOPOPOEIAN

POPS OF RED

Gretchen VanWormer When we were little, my sister Heidi and I used to wake in the morning and find tiny bottles nestled in the soft pink blankets at the foot of our beds—presents from our mother, who worked the night shift in the NICU. I wondered at the impossibly small bodies our mother held in … Continue reading POPS OF RED