Issue: 2018

there is a story my mama used to tell me when she lay in two feet of snow in the middle of a field somewhere off Rt 9. she lay in the dark and watched the stars so long she couldn’t feel her body, the snow around her clean and wide. she stayed until sh … Continue Reading

Once she lived in Arizona and she got an award, so her mother sent her an azalea. It was pink                   and pretty, so out of place in the apartment of nubby beige and ochre chair covers,                   cigarette smoke, monsoon grit. All her … Continue Reading

I’m here, in a small moment looking for windows to break this isn’t rebellion I tell my mom I broke a jar on asphalt picked it up with my hands I listen to melancholic silence in big rooms I nod and sweep by people I don’t hand out flyers, or paint t-s … Continue Reading

Good Morning small room with no windows, folk punk and three birds squawking at me— I slept on the floor last night I dreamt of running a potluck without contributions and barely any food I quit my job, spent all my money on chard and italian cheese I … Continue Reading