Issue #38
The Tenth Testicle by S.A. Greene

When a third testicle dropped, he asked her to enlarge his trousers so he could house everything more comfortably and she said which century do you think we’re living in?

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Dorothy by Andrew Graham Martin

Who told you there could be ghosts in your closet? That you have the same number of fingers as toes? That we live in a lovely and humid place called Indianapolis, Indiana?

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Appa’s Tenth Day by Vijayalakshmi Sridhar

In wet clothes, I am sitting cross-legged on the floor—the fan of Amma’s nine-yards grazing her legs—calves with bulging blue veins and heels that are cracked like a desert floor within my viewing range.

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Thursdays Smell Like You by Ashleigh Adams

They smell like orange peel and oaky bourbon, same as your breath after three Old Fashioneds, like the Bud Lite we picked up at the gas station after the bar, like the lavender laundry detergent steeped in the threads of the blanket I used when I crashed on your...

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Beyond the Stones by Gregory Meece

Queued for my sentencing, I reflected, like catechism taught us. The forgiven fingered their beads, tallying grace like dues. Stained glass flared—Moses, alight with judgment, mid-swing. Had I broken one? More?

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After by Claudia Monpere

and after and after and nothing changes, just the names of the children. This one drew birds wearing hats. That one had an orange juice popsicle for an imaginary friend.

Husband by Sara Cappell Thomason

I want a house, a wife, a steak dinner and all my bills paid on time. I want to settle down in a house and get paid. Dinner from my wife served on time

Rosetta Post-its by Guy Biederman

Los Gatos Tienen Hambre, says the post-it on the fridge. Since when did the cats learn Spanish, since when did they learn to write? The same could be asked of you, says another post-it.

The Truths Behind a Pumpjack Dare, Northern Alberta, 3rd July, 1991 by Kate Axeford

I’d hauled myself skywards on steep metal rungs. You were safe below, hurling taunts like stones. We’re two brothers, poles apart, but I’d climbed the ladder. I’d had to. You’d dared me to rodeo the Donkey.

Ernst Is Coming Home by Jack Morris

The rumours arrive on the dawn wind and by mid-afternoon the village ladies have landed in Leonora’s kitchen to disembowel the news.