If you are end-time man, end-time woman, sick in the groin, half-Jewish on your mother’s side, then this life of chloracne and checking accounts is only a fable of ganglia. Believe not the fine-tuned numbers of aerodynamics nor the poultice warmed by nursing hands (Proverbs 3:5,6). Read the Bible daily: Hebrews, Philippians. In abnegation, testify: I was bored in my limited office space; Christ came … Continue reading Tract by Alan Elyshevitz
It had been Charlotte’s idea, of course. Beautiful Charlotte. Just so, even in her brown school dress, her hideous brown socks, her red beret. She placed a hand on each of her four friends in turn, an exclusive invitation to appreciate her company. “A game, that’s all. Just a little game.” She could have been her mother, biscuit tree in one hand and lemon in … Continue reading The Darkening Green by Martin Parsons
She had the emotional presence of a toothpick, the personality of a comatose eel… A woman I desiredread Antigonewhich she encouraged me to do, so Idid. When I came upon “Teiresias” I said,“I can’t spell that.” She said,“Look it up.” Somewhere. She became that womanyou wouldn’t expect –out of proportionto everything else. When she movedher body slid –of a piece – which caused a problem.The … Continue reading Ms. Alligator by Hunter Boone
Today at breakfast Sister Mary has pulled out from her cupboardA blue box filled with crispy crosses –edible rice branthe color of amethyst Trix. She pours the milk overher wholesome “t’s” and watches them floatminiature crosses buoyant on a purple sea,the envy of all Carmelites. Sister bows her head and prays overher tiny morsels, eachinfinitesimal snap, crackle and pop,giving thanks for some rangy white-haired Divaback … Continue reading A Bowl of Jesus Christ Rice by Hunter Boone
I set up twitter yesterday, for this, in part, looking for an occasion to be brave, to show solidarity, sharing my #YouKnowMe, to write a love letter to Alabama, to Verona – to admit my privilege and put it in service of others. At least these are my self-congratulatory reasons. As a dear friend phrased it more candidly, twitter should have you sign a consent … Continue reading Antecedent—What? No Tweets Yet? by Micol Bez
This is not a confession I don’t owe you one I have no account to give you, no place. Let me try on Google Maps grey squares and green stains to jog up my memory to gift it matter and body. Sure, let me look online for that. Definitely wasn’t the one on Wisconsin with clean-looking women on the walls and late-capitalism-induced smiles, white- washed … Continue reading #YouKnowMe by Micol Bez
Image credit: Ashok Rajamani An Indian man named Anil Murthy wed a young, rather wealthy, young woman named Leenu Narayan. However, when this cherry-unpopped maiden married Anil, she did not love him. Actually, she did not like him. In fact, she did not even know of his existence at all. Leenu, at twenty-three, was informed by her father that she was to be a bride … Continue reading Sari Romance by Ashok Rajamani
When you press in the bedroom dark and whisper because our son is sleeping your story of the long bus ride to my 24th birthday party, the bakeries you visited searching for a carrot cake because I said it was my favorite, in Yantai where there was no such thing, and the baker who approximated one based on your description of mine, I can almost … Continue reading Carrot Cake by Cameron Morse
I’m a cynic who wants to be loved, a victim looking for another shove. I’m a mother to no one and a friend to the dead, I’m a freedom seeker stuck in my head. And if I close my eyes nobody else can see me. Continue reading Untitled by Jennifer Stephenson
I look tired and I feel sad, my boyfriend’s an alcoholic, I drink the leftover wine so he can’t it matters not, by his 4th visit to the shop the mirage is smashed. I angle my face away from the smell, I’m 27 and nesting, readying my womb, that by some miracle a bout of radiotherapy did not destroy! for what? I’m nowhere near ready. … Continue reading 27 and 11 twelfs by Jennifer Stephenson
