For a Summer They Lived Underwater by Cathy McArthur-Palermo
After the burial, Jeanne dove into those places in the lake where the water was deep, held her breath, skidded under rocks, past the beer cans and the red and white lures.
Do you ask to be married to a dress by Mandira Pattnaik
I heard the woman who pastes little rounded discs to sun-dry into cow dung cakes on the backyard brick wall, mislaid a basket of ripened yellow bananas this morning, left it at your door, the equivalent of a marriage proposal.
From Zero to Infinity by Carol Ann Parchewsky
You can sit there as long as you want. On top of a pixelated mushroom in a fir-filled forest. Singing a song like a Eurovision vixen or dancing as loud as a Disney princess in fuschia or lilac embroidered tulle dresses.
The Watchtower Seasons by Rosaleen Lynch
Summer High—Before dawn in the summer high off the dry and cracked ground we scramble up the watchtower’s wooden struts, hand after hand, bare feet following, replacing one with the other, like climbing clavicles you say.
Sandwich by Sara Cappell Thomason
This morning I watched my ex-husband assemble our daughter’s lunch on the hood of my car. He was grocery-less and late to drop her off at school.