Issue Twenty One

Blue Space

When she opens my eyes, the wind gives shape to golden waves endlessly lapping grey asphalt that separates fields of bearded barley from canola. Divides golden wheat from stubble field from pastures peppered with sage. A gentle roll, occasional tree. A subtle change...

Rituals

My love This morning mamá came into the kitchen and handed me her morral My love You dug out an ancestral pain inherited from my grandmother to my mother to me My love Mi mama, she has always told me que las penas con pan son menos So I make myself a taco with all...

Vocabulary

After we had lived in Plainfield for two weeks, my father drove my mother and me around town. “Listen,” he said. “The worst, filthy, run-down street is called Pleasant.” He turned and gave me an expectant look. “What’s that called, Donnie?” “Irony,” I said, and he...

Knives, Widower

Knives I can offer you only: this world like a knife —John Berryman A set of them in a house is nothing, where nothing becomes a meal for us. We are either kitchen or crime scene as our daily recipes prepare fresh wounds or silence in rooms. Words are food for...

A Truly Wonderful Monster

I’m running my little real estate scam in Casey Key around 2005 or so when I find Stephen King’s wallet on the sidewalk. Inside there’s no cash just his Maine driver’s license with his big dumb face on it and a couple credit cards. Canceled already probably. There’s a...

Party On

They were yorking, yorking all over the city. Hot like the fourth of July. The crowd, wild grassing, and the night sky bannered and bottered. The hot hot. The zipping but not the zippers. They twobacked and sometimes three. Together, then apart. We dooglogged out of...

Enough

At the pharmacy counter I wrote down my name, birth date, and prescription info and handed the note to someone, who located the bottle, stuffed it in a bag, and stapled the bag shut. I paid, nodded, and didn’t say a word, not wanting to encourage a dialogue. I pushed...

Here Comes Sam

Like an elephant, I cried. It was the best simile I could invent at nine years old for Sam blowing his nose. But I was the youngest and the table conversation, a babel of NPR and academic reportage, took place in the air above my head. For those forty five minutes, I...

May/December

May is, frankly, fed up. Yesterday was the six-month mark where her relationships usually die. Today is six months plus one. She wants to end this, but can’t break an old man’s heart, so she breaks some eggs instead. Only this time she’ll add something disgusting....

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