Issue #3 // REASONS WHY // Anna Meister
voice like crackling embers / legs that once worked / hair & fat face in old pictures on the staircase / how you are my brother there / years measured […]
Tag Archives: issue 3
Issue #3 // HATING THY NEIGHBOR // Anna Meister
Marty, an old woman, lived next door with manicured rose bushes & breasts like bags of rice & no visitors ever & one dead son. Once, she called the weed […]
Issue #3 // MEMORY OF HALF-TRUTHS // Anna Meister
In the station, I bought a coffee just to keep my hands warm & placed my head on your shoulder in a different way than I could before we’d slept […]
Issue #3 // INSIDE VOICE // Anna Meister
Cry on the wine-stained couch, cat claw & tooth torn. Your face salted as a state road after an ice storm. Skin like paper held to light. You stay so […]
Issue #3 // Clean // Paige Chaplin
The Jersey shore house, your grandparents before the bad knees, the kites, the swollen tide. You had those perfect ringlets you eventually grew out of. Your brother had won golf […]
Issue #3 // I Tell My Therapist (It Wasn’t All That Bad) // Paige Chaplin
My mother likes to garden, but not enough to call herself a gardener. There was this one day in summer—back when I could call New Jersey home—she told me she […]
Issue #3 // But I’ve Got The Ax // Paige Chaplin
History says that a woman is a womb and nothing else. History does not want to talk about a woman’s fist, her spit. History says we cannot exist outside our […]
Issue #3 // The Thief of Hope, in 3 parts // Melissa Newman-Evans
after Ed Wilkinson 1. My grandmother told me that aliens were going to come and save us; from what was never terribly specific. Some impending cataclysm, maybe. A bad night’s […]
Issue #3 // Guitar // Melissa Newman-Evans
after Caroline Harvey, for Bobby Crawford I am 22 and I am selling my guitar. The woman I am selling it to is buying it for her husband as a […]
Issue #3 // Leaving is a Haunted House // Melissa Newman-Evans
Leaving a place you love turns it into a haunted house, and the morning will never come. You can tell yourself the house is settling. That there are no footstep […]
Maps For Teeth 