Grip by Lauren Camp
Sep17

Grip by Lauren Camp

  “Grip” by Lauren Camp   Sure, I was afraid of the perfunctory fucks of the person standing in grief with a hand on the subway pole of the 3 train. In my soft life, I don’t hear such a dispatch of crisp pitted slurs. The least thing I have is disaster. After that, exposure. Thugs trump love at these angles and cornices where everyone knows the arc of exhaustion. The train was confronted with her spectacular...

Read More
My South by Wendy Carlisle
Sep17

My South by Wendy Carlisle

  “My South” by Wendy Carlisle   On the left, the Atchafalaya, so black, so burnt inside, silent as a pot. Down here, my lips equal silt and common bliss. Down here, I carry my grave folded in my pocket, a cardboard hunger, a box and shards. The woman beside me in this food line wears, a skintight skirt, has a back-door man. Down south we have the right to costumes and gossip, to numbers and pawn. Down south, we...

Read More
The Jugular by Karla Morton
Sep17

The Jugular by Karla Morton

  “The Jugular” by Karla Morton   You laughed when I said I got out of the truck, pocket knife in hand, looking for the horse I just hit. “And what would you have done with that?” I would have wanted to end his suffering; to cut his throat. “As if you ever could.” I hope I could have done it, if I needed to; if he hadn’t scampered off; if he’d lain there, barely breathing in the ditch. I hope I could wring a...

Read More
Dada Does Dominoes by Glenda Reed
Sep17

Dada Does Dominoes by Glenda Reed

  “Dada Does Dominoes” by Glenda Reed   Washy is so drunk he’s unable to hide his cheating. After slamming down a legal play, he attempts to slip a second domino near my end of the table. His fingers fumble the delicate procedure. I look to Raz, but he’s studying his own hand too closely to notice. Not wanting to leave the errant domino squatting for long, I snatch it up, “No you don’t,”...

Read More
Blue Goddesses by Laura Chaignon
Sep17

Blue Goddesses by Laura Chaignon

  “Blue Goddesses” by Laura Chaignon   I was not born cross-legged Or blue Not like Shiva or Amma But I will give you my love I will put my lips on your wounds Swallow the puss Gorge on your pain I am no saint I do not preach You do not need to kneel Oh, I will kneel And liberate you From the suffering I will hug the demons out of you My love is a roaring river Melting ice, unstoppable Raging It does not hum...

Read More