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Two Poems: American Travelogue & Life Drawing

Caroline Crew

You see the flower's form leak into itself. A self. Some things in America still make sense. I open my junk mail, Disney red. Your family. Liquid uttered out into the night freezes your dreams undone. Veracity leaves its whispers. Make an orchestra instead. Every bitten breath


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

London is an international idea

Emily Bludworth de Barrios

London is an international idea and a historical fact and a little piece of our youth like a stallion which stood about for some years standing still within those some years (with muscles and veins full of warm hot blood)

Sura: Providence, Rhode Island

Micaela Cameron

The only Korean word I know is oma,/meaning mother. I sit across from her in the low light of the Korean restaurant/downtown. We hold rice paper menus/up to the candle's glow...

From the Archives

Rick Has Died

Nicole Hoelle

The buildings were rundown and whatever light came from them was like the leftover glow of an all-night party. Tonight, those same lights were electrified, lit up along the grid.

Mesas and Particles

Joni Wallace

Some nights inside the caterwaul of coyotes / the telephone rings, very late or very early. / Then my father walks out into darkness. / My mother still sleeping / and I am.

Aubade: Kitchen, 7:08 A.M.—

Kevin Phan

School bus, may you never rust, always catching scraps of children’s laughter. Add a few phrases to the sunrise, and the pinks pop...

Town Day

Sierra Golden

he dials and dials his best half, / fingers moving like pretty / please, like knock on wood, like long / prayers, like rain dancers bright / in his loneliness who stomp

From the Blog

On Violence

$138,000 into the story, there is nowhere else to go. I spent my twenty-seventh year typing letters of application, the nerves in each hand wrecked by…

On Shame

156,000 into the story, the room is empty.   The man I have started dating listens to my stories of how the dinners at the American Academy would unfold,…