Chronic Fatigue by Mitchell Grabois

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome has struck the star of a local ballet troupe and a retiree who’s been waiting ten years to take up the sitar and the daughter of a famous sci-fi writer and a pharmacist at the nearby Walgreen’s which sits at the cobbled corner of Happy and Healthy There are too many others to mention who have been likewise affected who (barely) live … Continue reading Chronic Fatigue by Mitchell Grabois

Suns by Susie Gharib

The sun always shines on TV, sang Morten in the nineteen-eighties when I was poring over books in a tiny room that overlooked Glasgow’s Necropolis cemetery, constantly fending off the blows of smog-and-fog-related melancholies. When my eyes sought a little respite from perusing Lawrence’s Aristocracy of the Sun, on monumental headstones they would alight, nestling to tributes on epitaphs, speculating on how Young, Blair and … Continue reading Suns by Susie Gharib

Fog Can’t Deter Saturday Waking by Dan Raphael

By the time to go is gone Sun between windows numbers deciding their shapes Two crows in sync & constant distance or my eyes arent talking to each other As the song on the clock radio keeps going after the alarms turned off Picturing the over- and under-tones of this exhale as my ears breathe, as my eyes off-gas Do dreams evaporate or just crumble … Continue reading Fog Can’t Deter Saturday Waking by Dan Raphael

A Middle Sized Ohio Town by Joseph Buehler

(In a middle sized Ohio town a waitress kicks a dirty fork back into the kitchen.) The Present is an unsmiling disheveled Minnesota giant who stands behind a door holding a sledgehammer in one hand and a bottle of Jim Beam in the other. The Past is an overweight mathematician who accidentally drops his chalk. When he bends over to retrieve it the students in … Continue reading A Middle Sized Ohio Town by Joseph Buehler

I called my grandma… by Zeke Greenwald

I called my grandma on the phone To ask about the news: Her neighborhood was down the lives Of some a dozen Jews. There’s a funeral today, and then Another one tomorrow; On Thursday they’ll still inter The victims of the sorrow. On Friday, Grandma goes once more To a funeral, Back in the day Shirley was Her neighbor after all. “Friday is really kind … Continue reading I called my grandma… by Zeke Greenwald

it wouldn’t be Los Angeles without the Hondurans by Francisco Orozco

For the Central American Refugee Caravan Montreal, Canada 2:00AM November 2018 As if Tijuana wasn’t alive with all these thousands of bruises. All these sunrises and mariachis have taught us that our houses have shoes on. No American dream just enough beans and rice to get by. Our father will have paint or dirt stains on his jeans at our graduation ceremony. Kisses are more … Continue reading it wouldn’t be Los Angeles without the Hondurans by Francisco Orozco