/sarah gridley

what Mary’s
son allows (or leaves to the wide
& terrible discretion of human self-
allowance) is not unlike a mirror

/lane fields

I was perfect, two small hands
clasped in prayer, just waiting
to become unmade—

/jennifer martelli

I have 206 bones in my body and most/
could be my friends or people I envy

/brenna womer

ripeheavy, dim citrus breaks
the back of its elastic grace;
it begs

/david capps

Endings Endings, like beginnings, mystify. Sometimes to be mystified is to sense a returning, without knowing why or how far, or even when exactly, as…

/chase ferree

The pigeons sound like doves
because they are doves. The television sounds like war.

/valerie witte

Vanished/ by chance/ a scorch/ of hair/ a trench/ of maps/ almanacs

j. l. conrad

When the sirens went off, some walked to their balconies and gazed at the ocean, its
far horizon. Most discovered that they wanted to be somewhere else.