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Two poems by Natania Rosenfeld

What I Want for My Birthday A hankie like a quilt, made from silks in every color, with shimmering seams and a snake’s tongue of red. A holiday under palms where bronzed men attend with unguents. One season in someone else’s mouth, a bed of plush for my impatient heart, bangles for my half-fat, half-muscled… Continue reading

“Hope, Change, Etc.” by Patrick Mainelli

“It was November and the leaves were done falling. The gutters, choked with soft debris, overflowed sour water. Reds and golds piled dead on every corner. Barely a week earlier, the same colors still clung helpless to their branches, refusing the inevitable. Now they huddled together in dirt. I walked on them and heard a… Continue reading

“Holes in Heaven” by Julie C. Day

In addition to its other powers, the Arizona heat compels decay. My forty-year-old apartment building with its Class C construction and Title Eight clientele didn’t stand a chance. The stench had overtaken my bedroom months ago, the epicenter of my carefully assembled physics experiment. Even with a bandana tied around my face, the room stank… Continue reading

“Details of Air” by Bret Shepard

  This, too, to consider during dusk before the brushfire-warmth   comfort—details of the beach, flimsy air moves messages   clumsily from one part of the body   to the next part, fingers to chest, for example, so quickly it might   be called a clumsying of the body— after enough of us, even this… Continue reading

“Diego Forever” by Kelly Chastain

“Of course, I would fall for him. There is something about his mustache, the way it curls up at the edges, and how it skirts the top of his dashing smirk. His brown eyes twinkle, or at least appear to be twinkling, which I have come to understand is a major feat when painting a… Continue reading

“Answer, Mermaid” by Leslie Parry

“Babe left the doctor’s office wobbly and sick, certain she smelled like vomit and burnt hair. Every Friday at three o’clock she walked the same streets back to her house. She walked, so no one would see her car parked there—in the oyster-shell drive behind the pharmacy, by the steps leading down to the basement…. Continue reading

“World Wide Web” by Gabriel Welsch

We could do little more than watch your second marriage fall apart— the better one, the saner one, what you called the real one, to a woman who didn’t, like your first wife, drink to dull a pain she had before you met her. We watched as your new wife took her loneliness to Facebook,… Continue reading