Space by Lisa Rosenberg
“Space” by Lisa Rosenberg My father brought home the blue-jacketed, government-issued views of the surface of the moon. Parsed, printed, and bearing the crosshairs of our optics on mottled fields where illusion made bubbles of craters as we watched; my small body tracking toward a moon-cycle still years away. Toward wings I would seek to merit, and a paper to confirm my degree in postulating the deep workings...
On Shawano Lake by Lora Keller
“On Shawano Lake” by Lora Keller I wrap an orange life jacket around my shoulders like a crusty stole. You thread the loose canvas tie through the two silver rings at my waist and tug it tight, twice. It’s my turn, my one time all year to be alone with you. Your sons are still asleep and jealous. Your other daughter is afraid of worms. Our Evinrude fractures the quiet morning and soon we stop at the edge of a...
Tanka for Precious and Angie and Vivian, in Particular by M. Nzadi Keita
“Tanka for Precious and Angie and Vivian, in Particular” by M. Nzadi Keita Daffodils name you ‘home of delicate things.’ They know your yellow mind. Pollen trumpets secretly nod. Hear them open their throats? ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here M. Nzadi Keita’s Artist Statement: M. Nzadi Keita’s collection of persona poems, Brief Evidence of Heaven...
Mothers by Chloe DeFelippis
“Mothers” by Chloe DeFelippis green eyes & her mother’s television echoing, she’s learned to sleep on the couch. greens eyes & her mother’s brown bags full, she collects packets of salt, pepper, ketchup. green eyes & her mother’s handwriting on index cards, she cries when shredding paper. green eyes & her mother’s dead infant daughter, she’s learned to walk away from needy little girls sad...
Ethel Finds Money by Karen Heuler
“Ethel Finds Money” by Karen Heuler My adopted sister Ethel sat opposite me at the dinner table, waiting for the food to arrive in the multicolored bowls Mom had gotten long ago, to cheer Ethel up and encourage her to eat. Ethel was humming to herself, kicking her legs back and forth; I could tell because her body rocked rhythmically. She often did it. She picked up her fork, examined it, and put it down. My...
Bouncers by Linda Melick
“Bouncers” by Linda Melick Mother made me and brother go out to the apple orchard to pick up all the bouncers. The farmer got the good fruit, but we could have the leavings. We dragged them home in a beggared wooden barrel that reeked of wine. She would sigh at them as she cut the bruises out with a small sharp knife. Then she peeled their skins off in one continuous piece. We snatched up these spirals,...
Downed Limb by Karen Skolfield
“Downed Limb” by Karen Skolfield The deer’s eating an oak limb as if it were a salad or something juicier, strawberries with crème freche. Evidence of early winter’s hunger. The leaves papery brown, exact color of the deer. It looks like it’s eating itself, working away at its shoulder, not even glancing up. When we consume ourselves, we think no one cares enough to watch. The girl in high school who carved...
Driving Home by Melissa Grossman
“Driving Home” by Melissa Grossman She haunts me, this young woman I drove home one evening. Wan with hollow cheeks and mussed blond hair that fell over her face, she kept me captive in my car, told stories about the room she rented in a big house where no one talked to her. She stared at a box of Girl Scout cookies on the floor by her feet, so I gave her one. Watched her from the corner of my eye, hold it to her...
Kitchens by Michel Wing
“Kitchens” by Michel Wing Bread cut in thick slabs, warmth pooling the butter. Swirled peaks of meringue, the lemon tart, sweet. Dinners of simple leftovers, always enough for one more. The kitchens of childhood friends opened wide for me. I entered hungry for mothering, left full-bellied, whole. ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Michel Wing’s Artist...
Fat Girl by Melissa Grossman
“Fat Girl” by Melissa Grossman I carry the weight of being a fat girl. I bear the indelible sledgehammer taunts: my brothers call me “tank” people say, “how beautiful” I’d be if I “just lost weight.” I wear the weight like battle armor, swallow my anger. I carry the raw egg of my future on a spoon. ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Melissa Grossman’s...
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The Deepest Place Jul 26, 2025
