Velvet, Mariah Wright     The girls are lounging on the side of the road at a wooden stand piled high with Valencias. No one has stopped all morning and it is getting close to two. Laura is lying in the grass watching the slow-moving clouds and Grace-Ann is watching Laura. “I’m tired of oranges,”…

Complacent Thought, Haley Tatom     1. Lilliana starving is what we’re used to. She says her bones don’t fit right. What kind of bones does a sister need? She wants low hips, paper ribs, big square hands for dancing with the state fair girls. She spends all morning on her belly in her whitewashed bedroom;…

Ripped, Breanne Sparta     you have stripped me down to my tongue root she said it flaps exposed.   i will lick the bent rims of your bicycle tires i will lie down flat for the chance to chew your anklebones out from under you.   she said if i turn everything rightside upside…

Bird Balcony, Rebecca Levitan   Drummer and bandleader Dave King mouths the word “poem” to his bandmates, indicating “You Can’t Spell ‘Poem in Concrete’”—another clumsily named King original—and the song begins. Guitarist Erik Fratzke strums major chords, bassist Adam Linz thumps along in step, and King ticks a plain, straight-eighth beat, culminating in a staple…

Fukushima, Takuya Maeda     They say that dogs are soulless. Mine sleeps on his side and skitters after rabbits; the limbs of his own knowing stretch and convulse, propelling him bound for bound as he turns on the linoleum, pinned and pivoted around his heart on the floor.   I, too, have chased and…

My Desires, Margaret Montague     What’s it mean, to sit?   My sit quits me twenty hours in the day til the sunset pours like sugar from my mouth, I’m a horse and the bit has been took from my teeth  It does not hurt  Just—sours   I only speak in my sleep, like…

Mushroom Studies, Mary Beth Foehrenbach     In the heart of Chianti lies Panzano, a small, charmingly antiquated, unquestionably Tuscan village. One of the inhabitants of Panzano is Dario Cecchini, the most famous butcher in Italy and, arguably, the world. His store, Antica Macelleria Cecchini, lies to the right of the cobblestone square and is…

Cedar Keys, William Gilpin     After an hour of steely sky the locals call night, we’re back on the rapids fishing whorls for sockeyes, but reel in only dollies. Here, northern capillaries of the Kenai triple with every squall of rain. We tie midge and nymph flies on grassy banks, my father and I.…

Ripple Dancer, Kavenaugh Oktavec     Nalin wakes to rain drumming on the roof, against the chimney, through the cracks in the walls. She sits up, feeling her bones crack, and breathes. She wonders, briefly, if she’s floated out to sea. There’s a dark, yellowing patch on the ceiling above the bed that makes it…

Brothers, Christine Nicholson     Cain’s kiss; the drowned. Family submerged. A photo blurred by stillwater.   Three merfolk asphyxiate on the lawn. Shadows drape a dampened dawn.   Mother’s face drips down like wax. Father, son, hold streaked hands clasped.   Plait-hair, pleat-dress, she’s out of water watching them: former (twin) (daughter).   She…

Bugs, Ben Denzer     but if it were I would tell you how they right themselves by means of opercula fastened to their feet (foot).   How when the world threatens, they first withdraw, then brace themselves against the heavy sand. How this is a trait   learned (inherited) from their mothers. My own mother…

Grandma Jenny, Allison Arkush     As children, we worshipped Home, wild and reckless. Armed with markers and crayons, we scribbled manic hieroglyphs on its canvas walls. Relished the soft, flowing pressure of our graffiti. In the kitchen, like a Norman-Rockwell B-side, we climbed onto each other’s shoulders, toppled over cookie jars and turned our…

If Hair Could Talk, Austin Peterson-Hays [Trigger Warning: Depictions of Dubious Consent/ Sex Between Minors; Underaged Drinking] The first time I saw him I had just turned fourteen and the way he used swear words and carried his backpack on one shoulder was how I knew he was older. He called his friends by their…

Video Stills, Luz Fernandez     Think of worst. Think of worry & woolen washer cycles. Think, well, why won’t this cigarette smoke any damn faster? In winter, the wretched knocking of incisors when pea coat, gloves & scarf fail, when fashion finally meets utility but the wind has more wile & longer sleeves to hide it in,…

Polski 125, David Diaz     They made this Mustang in 1968 and called it a 1969 Fastback. It had none of the special options packaged with it—it was not a Boss, not a Mach I. It was meant to go to a man of humble means, someone who knew how to have fun but didn’t…

Ingress, Matthew Gallagher [Trigger Warning: Depiction of Car Accident; Death] In a poorly upholstered driving seat, middle age is approaching a quiet, coughing woman much faster than it is her husband because she is a quiet and coughing woman. She is turning the key vigorously, pressing the gas pedal to the floor, digging into the…

Winter, Jonathan Agee [Trigger Warning: Graphic Depictions of Animal Dissection; Death Mention] 1. When you peel back the skin of the dead lab rat, it’s like stripping the rind of an orange. You can smell the preservation chemicals, a sweet, over-ripe-fruit smell, and it stings the back of your nose. You lower a scalpel into…