In This Issue

The power to alter one’s life comes from a paragraph, a lone remark.
more
She pressed her soft palms into mine. There was no common language.
more
My first suicidal ideations occurred to me when I was ten, eleven, twelve.
more
Is it cruel that the phrase goes: “Memories keep flooding back”?
more
Our visions of the world fade like the morning star, lost in the light of day.
more
He was making some green by ripping his own heart out.
more
I wanted my love to be everywhere, then love began to bite through me.
more
Sent
We had not expected to land here. People ended up in New Brunswick, North Carolina, a glazed sprawl of about fifty thousand people,
after they were fired or got divorced, or decided to end their days somewhere warm. Many had a dazed quality, walking around blinking, in the clear air that smelled, oddly, of a swamp. They were thinking: Is this where my life has led? Where do I go now? How long do I have to live, anyway?
Our story was the usual sad story of our current era.more
The Rose Window
There within: the languid, silent
pace
bewilders you,
its face
straying view
and as if seized in a maelstrom’s
clasp,
abandons itself, slips from its own
grasp.










