Category: SUMMER 2012


    COVER PHOTO: jon w. edwards via flickr SUMMER ISSUE Letter from the Editor, SUMMER POETRY Christie Bingham SELF PORTRAIT OF A GHOST Jenn Blair VOW Richard Fein WEEKDAY MORNING LAWMEN Zach Fishel THREE POEMS Shannon Elizabeth Hardwick THREE POEMS Lowell Jaeger BUZZ-CUT SATURDAYS Jacob Martin TWO POEMS Will Vincent BATMAN FICTION Matt Dube FEVER TO TELL Jillian Grant Lavoie TWO FLASH […]

  • Letter from the editor, Summer

    Dear Readers, It’s been a long time since we were online and we apologize to our readers for our delayed release. Our editors have been reading submissions and I feel they have done a good job of helping shape our summer issue. Just in case anyone was wondering about our absence, we’ve decided to switch […]

  • Matt Dube

    FEVER TO TELL “Why did you let me drink so much?” Karen asked from the bathroom, and then vomited loudly. Kevin thought she was trying to make it sound worse than it was, but he couldn’t be sure. He turned his mug to make a ring of the moisture that dripped across its base, and […]

  • Marina Rubin

    THE COAT it was gone. the bald CPA was shuffling hangers back and forth in a frenzy. i tried to console him that all businessmen wore the same black wool coat, someone must have taken his by mistake. but the visitor snapped that it was a double-breasted Waffen-SS leather coat with a belt, a real […]

  • Christie Bingham

    SELF PORTRAIT OF A GHOST  O thin shell of memory, paper lantern, fingers leaded to your guitar like windowpanes, I hear the burn to the bridge will guide you back to the living, but your light remains a constellation I can not name. Look, there in the sky. That is your dead eye. There, your […]

  • Jenn Blair

    VOW Call it the starting over again place. All gone but what once was, horizon blue unspooling, still unspoiled thread. Established vineyards back to loose seeds tumbling in worn pockets. You might call it mother’s cracked mirror, her three younger sisters falling out in the shatter, summer dove cote restricting, last feather pressed. I might […]

  • Lowell Jaeger

    BUZZ-CUT SATURDAYS Oldest first, youngest last, Dad sat us down on the kitchen stool, wrapped a dish towel around our shoulders and clipped our heads with an electric shears, a skill he’d practiced in boot camp on buddies from his platoon. Hold still, Dad cautioned, or you’ll get nicked. We inhaled and held ourselves still […]

  • Will Vincent

    BATMAN Sam drowns him in the slop sink. I hold stick-matches to his bat ears and smell him melt. We bury him down by the wood at the bottom of the sandbox —pile on oak leaves, pine needles, small tractors, and action figures rusted at joint and hinge. We get plywood, two-by-fours, and cinder blocks—step […]

  • Jacob Martin

    THE ROOT OF IT Pebbles bronze in lightening night split by day’s dart how the storm reveals what was hidden as instincts. SO THERE’S GUITAR through Sunday drawn shades, like being dropped off in a strange city—to hear it this time through the vents. The neighbor, he used to practice late hours in the warmer […]

  • Jillian Grant Lavoie

    GIRLS LIKE BETSY (IN 50 WORDS) “Here’s the thing about girls like Betsy,” my brother says. “Girls like Betsy like boys like Big Brad. They don’t want small-town boys with small-time jobs, you understand? Girls like Betsy are looking for a way out. They’re looking for a big ticket, a leg up. Brad’s got big money, what have you got? […]