by Suzi Banks Baum
Take a deeper breath, / the kind that quiets your belly / when you stand on the cliff’s edge of a new now.
by Samuel Cole
I touch his shoulder, wishing to touch everything else. Now. Here. Out in the open.
Dangerous / to let the sharks of worry swim away / after dismissing them into the open ocean
by Peter Cowlam
Minions in a free press, let loose with a vision, wash tides of stucco from their blades as work ends on a coastal tower.
by Claire Hopple
Smith’s sister convinced him to move in with her and her husband. They weren’t able to have kids and he could tell even over the phone that she relished the chance to mother him.
by Maggie Lane
I feel another body from the empty side of the bed pressing against mine, a heavy, immovable body made of worry and anxiety.
by Stephanie Hutton
The boiler’s death rattle shook the walls just as snow started to sprinkle over the moorlands.
Word counts, book sales, even romance: the only astrological guide a writer needs.
Manless I dance; my shadow follows me. / I can shift its weight, whirl with indifference.
by Amye Archer
It is dark. The summer is ending, but we can still taste her on our tongues. Twenty beers between us has made you hungry for me.
Review by Joy Ralph
At first glance, this is a deceptively simple-sounding romance: talented dancer falls for mysterious, powerful and possibly dangerous client.
Before I toast you with Here’s / to the Buddhist who never judges, / I’ll tell a joke about a black marble / statue of Lenin everybody thinks / is you.
by Jennifer Pruiett-Selby
This busy week is when the remaining members of my father-in law’s platoon will to travel to Tennessee for one final gathering.
by Kelly Konya
When he speaks of mindfulness and writes it off— / prayer is better suited but for what?— / I can tell he believes it, fathoms it clearly.
We discovered the joy of Roy White’s poetry at our sister magazine, The Lascaux Review, where his piece “Improv” snatched the air from our lungs.