Issue 14

The Futures We Live With
By JJ Peña my high school teacher’s words: you have to start planning for the future. it falls, plop! right
Red Bird, Red Bird
By Summer J. Hart We practice cartwheels on the lawn. Bright red summer birds pluck insects out of the air.
An Introduction to Asexual Rock Climbing
By Robert Ball The first time you entrust your life to the strength of your fingertips curled over a half-inch
icarus’ flight away from the sun
By JJ Peña when i think of dying, icarus comes to mind: a winged angel comet-ing from the sky in
The Cave of Sleeping Sharks
By Lindsey Baker When we didn’t go out into the new neighborhood at night, we spent hours on Tammy’s computer
Our Father to Make
By James Braun Listen to our father. He is a screen door rattling hinges, hauling in cedar split for us
Counting Magpies
By anita goveas You can say it’s just a scrape but these are my favourite purple cowhide leather shoes, and
Brooding
By Epiphany Ferrel My silver-laced Wyandotte hen has gotten broody. She’s been sitting on the nest for 38 hours and
How My Parents, Who Gave Me Up for Adoption, Might Have Met
By Epiphany Ferrell 1. She was a dog groomer and he had an Airedale terrier that bit everyone who attempted
radioactive summer / you are a chorus of fangs
By Ashley Cline you howl— & split my lip like watermelons / left on the neon vine, fat & summer-drunk
Last Frontier
By Christina Beasley The anatomy of the sea anemone is intricate. I swam through one's thick mouth and met miles
A Kafka Manual
by charles kell I. Read the instructions as if they are the landscape. Stand straight at the open window with