Great-Grandmother Annetta by Lisa Lutwyche
“Great-Grandmother Annetta” by Lisa Lutwyche Once I learned to watch her hands I forgot to be afraid of her whiskers. Twisted driftwood fingers tied with the blue ropes of her veins. Skin like draped patterned silk, or spotted wax, melted, crinkled, folded over sinewy bands. Quick machines, those deft fingers snapped green beans like cold jade, “pop-clink, pop-clink, pop-clink” into a thick white bowl with...
The Suitcase by Rinat Harel
“The Suitcase” by Rinat Harel 1. Lifting the lid, she said, “Bonbons for my girls”; ghosts in her German accent floating about. “Dollhouse table,” my sister declared. “A sofa, and this chair.” Collecting the wrapping paper, I inhaled Granny’s flowery perfume, and imagined her house in London. 2. The drifting desert sand, Mother removes from Granny’s gravestone...
Post-Post-Traumatic Stress by Samantha Lamph
“Post-Post-Traumatic Stress” by Samantha Lamph Trauma is passed down, inherited from past generations like heirloom jewelry or black and white photographs of family we’ll never meet; it is a recessive gene waiting to be expressed. I hear her screaming, that ancient woman. I feel the thrash, the flood of adrenaline that left her soul in ruins yet preserved her body, so we both could survive. In my pulse, she...
Flight Theory by Alison Adair
“Flight Theory” by Alison Adair Gorlice, 1908 ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Allison Adair’s recent poems appear or are forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Best New Poets 2015, Boston Review, Los Angeles Review, Mid-American Review, Mississippi Review, Missouri Review (Poem of the Week), Shenandoah, Southwest Review, and Third Coast, among other...
The Saint of Memory: The Peas by Linda Ravenswood
“The Saint of Memory: The Peas” by Linda Ravenswood She came from the West where rain measures the hours in drops against the house, where land breaks into great crags along the coast of water. Her high, gothic façade of radio hollowly sings through the sitting room where she’s been waiting against the window panes; it’s raining down the garden rows, and the trellis is beating the overhang like a metronome....
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