Issue #15
He Sings by Marcela Fuentes

Tunde calls Elisa between ten and eleven o’clock at night, from his second job, the group home where he is paid to sleep on a living room sofa.

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New and Selected Mountains by Matt Sailor

Do you remember the day we met? Fire at the border? The riot in the square? The mountains in the distance blossoming with artillery, the smoke rising into the storm clouds like some ancient spirit finally let loose?

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The Profusion by John Holman

“Look at all these motherfucking leaves!” yelled a man on the street in front of my house.  The man laughed.  “Look at this shit, will you?” 

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The Bronze Medal by Vincent James Perrone

She wants to meet the pig—snout down, paraded through the town square of sodden earth and
stump dimples, now trailed by serpentine line of freshly showered farmer with tomato noses and
breath prematurely soured from all that auctioneer talk.

Glass Flamingos by Catherine Roberts

I smash them all. Because who the fuck collects glass flamingos? Around me, pink shards sparkle in the carpet like pretty vomit.

Grief Sandwiches by Lucas Flatt and Travis Flatt

I’m in the elevator with the angel.
“I’m hungry,” I say.
“You can eat peanut butter again.”
My mother hated the smell of peanut butter. As kids, my brother and I got it all over everything. Mom said it smelled to her like dogshit.

The Subtle Light by Hetty Mosforth

Word of mouth gets him the job and gets him past the gatehouse. He tramps towards the house like a stray dog, turrets and crenelations coming into focus.

Carry On by Lucinda Kempe

Once there was a man who loved his donkey, but his donkey didn’t love him back. The donkey loved an eggshell, but the eggshell didn’t love it back.