Latest Submissions
“Body as a Metaphor,” “The Other Names of Home in a Desolated Country,” and “Love is an Alien Tongue”
Body as a Metaphor On a sunny Sunday, pastor said we should shout seven fires. But for me, my body is a flame. a burnt offering. a burnt incence.…
Miss Tarrant’s Revenge
Claire Harris was a writer. The only identity she wanted; the only thing at which she excelled. She wrote as well as Virginia Woolf, Ursula Le Guin…
“Marble Hands” and “Bacchante”
Marble Hands I saw heavy clouds hide the sun's infinite glare. Rude melancholies wound Apollo’s bow. Like mist from a cauldron, they fill the air,…
A Voice from the Past, Part 2
He entered holding the revolver, as if to face an unknown enemy, hoping to help his father in danger, but as soon as he arrived inside, his hope…
Rolling the Dice on Love
You never wanted to get married, It just wasn’t for you, Who needs a flawed institution, With an awful success rate, Who needs conventionality, When…
Rejection Collection
Chuck Spurnor was a collector. You may try to imagine all the sorts of things he could have chosen to collect, and you will probably be wrong. Chuck…
Negotiations with the Boss
Joan, the secretary, knocked on the door of her boss’ office, “You need me, sir?” “Yes, Joan, come on in,” the boss, a big-shouldered water buffalo,…
Tracking a Lost Day
Yesterday, a Saturday, was a day lost entirely to depression. Very occasionally, this happens. Here, I will attempt to document it, and in so doing…
The Engineers, Part 5
That night, I dream for the first time I can recall in years, and it is an insanity. I’m sorting through old photos, those old Land camera types,…
Lali’s Date
A small street café sat nestled between old shops and restaurants, warm and welcoming as such places were. They served the average…
