Micki Blenkush
He kneels, scowling in the ferns,
inches away through glass. So focused on purpose
he doesn’t notice me standing on tiptoe
Rebecca Ruvinsky
to tell my love
we have rats in the attic. we,
as in, me and mine; he is
still hundreds of miles away,
Mrinal Pattanaik
i swallow the moon and it tastes like iron not honey: not
nearly as beautiful as i’d hoped, but i was curious and now
Read MorePatrick Moran
She could be moody & very particular
about visitors. Her horoscope, which
remained a mystery, kept us guessing,
Read MorePatrick Moran
Everything you couldn’t understand
made you more like your parents, but
not the ones who fed you & told you
to go to bed, the other ones who
Read MoreJosh Lefkowitz
I love the strip of skin between my lover’s thumb and index finger,
the way it loosens slightly as the years accumulate.
Read MoreNatalli Amato
Putting through the no-wake zone
I see a mom teach her boys how to hook a worm.
Read MoreBenji Katz
If you want to be reductive, you can posit
the belief that beauty is just symmetry
Read MoreA.N. Higgins
I wasn’t afraid of the trust falls
but I hated passing the hula hoop from sweaty
arm to sweaty arm, untying
the human knot.
Read MoreCathy Wittmeyer
Grandpa lived on the mauve velour sofa
Saturdays. His stint at the mill wore him
down like his imprint in the cushions under
the beer cans stuffed with cigarette butts
Read More