by Valerie Bacharach I stand in my kitchen, the sky is stilldark, nether time between night and day,while my husband sleepsand the house is quiet, thinking of making coffee, perhaps read the news,although nothing will have changedwhile I slept. I dreamed of my sons while the street was emptyof cars and children.Now I am awake,Continue reading “While”

Verrie, Veronica

by Isabella Cruz Cadillac parked down Arroyo SecoGarcinia whittled waists, pom poms in the air,Their shadows indecipherable, messages lostIn the blinking of headlights. Wheelchair forgotten in their dusty wake,Metal teeth scraped against enamel–Immaculate and whiter than Verrie’s wedding dress–Remembrances coursing like gas. Pumped into the Caddie on Arroyo Seco,Which sits in the garage of someSuburbanContinue reading Verrie, Veronica

Meditation on Need

Winner of the Writer’s Foundry Prize in Poetry by Despy Boutris Any I want you makes me want to run& hide. I never know what to dowhen my body turns feral. If lustis a kingdom, how kingly I become—large as the mustard blooms smearingthe hillside, all that yellow impossibleto break through. All wild& inhuman, noContinue reading “Meditation on Need”

The Book of Ash

all that remains of Joshua by Katie Manning long agoyour peoplecame to the sea theycriedfordarknessandhe brought the sea over them you saw with your own eyesthen you lived in the wilderness for a long time then youfought against you your handsdestroyedyouput a curse on youblessed you again and againanddelivered you after these thingsyour goddied youburiedContinue reading “The Book of Ash”

on the headlands, across the harbor

by Deborah Pless the bonfire must have reached sixty feetover the roofs of Bearskin Neck and the wharfbefore the lobster boats idling in the harborwere put back to use by men with sleepy eyesand pounding skulls we saw it, cracked and spitting, fit to consumeand from the rocks you asked me: why go to allContinue reading “on the headlands, across the harbor”

Summer for Peaches

by Seth Amos I like summer for peaches, not for humid, breezeless days. July 28, 2019, 11:10 a.m.,Brooklyn, I ate one.Eating a peach requires planningor rogue carelessness.I ate this one over the sink,shirtless, waitingfor the coffee to percolate.My teeth pierced its cropped fuzzand perfumed flesh. Juice camelike a watering mouth, drippingdown my arm and plunkingintoContinue reading “Summer for Peaches”

Evening bike ride to San Antonio Juanacaxtle

by Lisa López Smith There are the last whispers of the jacarandas’ pale purple glow,fields faded, the soil freshly turned.There are the houses half eaten alive—naked, brooding & dark,and the gusty roarblinking back tearson the downhill.Past the Cataluña gas station where the white stone colossus,Christ the Redeemer-style, has outstretched arms to embracethe Pemex gas pumpsContinue reading “Evening bike ride to San Antonio Juanacaxtle”