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Roommate Wanted

By Judy Carr

to share my luxury survival
condo located in renovated
Atlas F missile silo, equipped
to withstand nuclear shock, global
warming and other unnatural
disasters.

The First Steps to Publishing: A Complete Breakdown of Looking for the Most Eligible Bachelor(ette)

“So you want to publish,” the old woman’s gnarled hand beckons you forward. Her long nose is speckled with dark spots, and one of her olive green eyes drifts lazily to the left. Her silver hair is knotted into a bun, held together with pencils (as a true artist’s should). She sits on a rocking chair, covered in quilted blankets, directly in front of a crackling fire. It is boiling in there, yet you walk forward.

Dogs

By Mitchell Krockmalinik Grabois

Shove a juicy bone
into the mouth of the barking dog
He has no right to disturb my peace
but why be mad about it?
He’s just being what he is
an attenuated descendent
of a snarling wolf

Cap’n, I Can

By Peter D’Antonio

Orn’s hands burnt as the weight of the anchor slid its chain hard against his calloused palms. He cleared his throat, letting out what could easily be misinterpreted as a grunt of pain.
            “You’re sure you’ve got it under control?” came a voice from the other end of the vessel.
            No answer.
            “Orn?”
            No answer.

Girlhood

By Hannah Calkin
During my teenage years I lost
My belief in Fairy Tales and pixie dust
But came to see myself as Persephone:
Legend of beauty, freedom, and imprisonment.
A dynamic dichotomy of all sorts.

Les Bises

by Zach Roberge

Au revoir Le Mans. Au revoir France. I pause a moment before leaning in slowly and kissing your left cheek followed by your right. We embrace then I leave out the door, waving goodbye.

A Nameless Bird

by Tyrel Kessinger

After my wife leaves for work, I round up my two daughters and we head to the backyard, an old raggedy quilt in hand. For a July morning in Kentucky it’s, quite surprisingly, a very pleasant one. Far too nice to not be taking advantage. My youngest daughter occupies the quilt with me under the shade of the one tree I can name, our Japanese Maple.

Forgetting

by Savannah Leigh

The two old men stood at the corner where Briar Avenue met Second Street.  Bickering, they hovered over a phone, the faint glow of a maternity shop’s window display washing over them.