excerpt of “Floating Notes”
By Babak Lakghomi - Jul 31, 2018
I don’t remember the first time I wrote my name. What I do remember is the first time someone else was called my name. I told him that was my name too, but he couldn’t believe it. He was a fat boy with a puffy face. He looked like a little boxer.
Read More >Five Plantains
By Josh Boardman - Jul 23, 2018
Yellow of a sunflower yellow of acid yellow piled on yellow of the yellowbacked book they arrested Oscar Wilde for carrying yellow in curdles glowing from inside and gushing onto everything around. Yellow of burnished gold. The very same yellow.
Read More >How We Talked with Our Eyes and Our Hands
By Michael Kimball - Jul 20, 2018
My wife looked so much brighter and more alive with her eyes open and looking back at me. I held onto her feet with my hands and she pushed her toes against them. She must have been smiling under that oxygen mask, but I didn’t know what to say to her, and she couldn’t talk again yet.
Read More >How I Moved Into Her Hospital Room
By Michael Kimball - Jul 19, 2018
I got onto the hospital bed with her and pulled her upper body up until she was sitting up. I pulled her eyelids up with my thumb so that she would be able to open her eyes up again.
Read More >How I Tried to Make It More of a Morning For My Wife
By Michael Kimball - Jul 18, 2018
I whistled bird sounds, but she didn’t open her eyes up or put a pillow over her ears or turn her face away or roll over away from the light. My wife hadn’t shifted her body since she had been in that hospital bed.
Read More >The Dying Woman Who Looked Smaller and Older Than My Wife
By Michael Kimball - Jul 17, 2018
They had most of her body covered up with sheets and blankets and she seemed to be too small to be my wife. Her head was propped up with a pillow and they had laid her hair out on it, but her hair looked too thin and too gray to be my wife’s hair.
Read More >How My Wife Would Not Wake Up
By Michael Kimball - Jul 16, 2018
My wife looked so light in their arms. I wanted to lift her up too.
Read More >Italy
By Sarah Schneider - Jul 13, 2018
We walked for over an hour, and a lot of it I was quiet, thinking how can I ever be happy again? At the house, where our hosts spoke to us in Italian, our room was cool and dark, the windows shut, only slits of light from the spaces in the closed wooden shutters.
Read More >Five Stories
By Bram Riddlebarger - Jul 9, 2018
I dug a hole today. The ground was muddy and wet. My friends helped me dig the hole.
Read More >Three Poems
By Ana Božičević - Jul 5, 2018
Everyone shivering in their
Leather jackets
Eating sandwiches named after
Serial killers
excerpt from “Bad-Asses”
By Mark Leidner - Jul 2, 2018
I ran to the kitchen and took the butcher knife out of the drawer. I put it behind my back and ran back to the porch. The crowd had grown, and everybody was chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
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