SPILL by Christina D’Antoni
At night I dreamt of pelicans strung up in the oaks by their beaks, choked in Spanish moss, the storm’s winds blowing them down. Cars sliding through gasoline, smearing their bodies into the street.
WHATEVER by Emma Estridge
She emails me a PDF of instructions. The first is Learn to sit quietly with yourself. I feel that we have already skipped a step.
HEATERS by Brett Biebel
There was a fence, and there were holes in it, and she looked like a lizard sometimes, a shitload of speed coiled inside some slender frame.
THREE by Amanda Gersh
I used to say I couldn’t travel because I didn’t have the time, but now I’ve got all the time in the world because the world isn’t using it.
THE CARRIAGE ROOM by Mary Ann McGuigan
He returned home silent, even more sullen. I asked him about Mrs. Marra once, but he looked at me as if all memories, good or bad, had been erased.
JACKFRUIT by Gwen E. Kirby
Now that your precious jackfruit is out in the world, latch the angel onto your body and let nature take its course. She held her jackfruit to her breast, to her arms, her neck, rubbed it against herself until she was raw.
SWEETNESS by Tina Kimbrell
On the morning that she died, I don’t think I knew that it was the day that we would stop waiting. We were just going to her bedside, as we did. As we had done for days. Suspended in that grief fog, gritty and spinning.
IF SHE WERE AN ANIMAL by Cameron Darc
He fondles a piece of charcoal and looks at me before touching the paper. The line makes a limp imitation of a spine. A nose appears.
SMOKE AND FISH by Uyen P. Dang
At first everyone blamed the smoke on the war, then the steel plant, and, finally, the water. But Ong Hai says it’s not water but grief at the bottom of the sea.
HEARTLESS by Alex Sullivan
Those twins out of St. Paul are doing some live podcast tour about living without lungs but that’s easy, the no lungs thing.