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?
The Tenth Testicle by S.A. Greene
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Issue #38
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?
I Know Someday You’ll Have a Beautiful Life by Sumitra Singam
Your sixteen-year-old body feels a spark—indecent, unladylike. The guitar licks the flames eager. You can see the disapproving faces of your parents.
Pineapple Love by Rebecca Klassen
Mum dropped a chunk into her mouth; eyes rolled back like when she eats Milk Tray.
From The Vantage Point of Ten, It All Might Be Possible by Elana Lavine
That desperate summer I have the ten-year-old girl campers, fifth grade now behind them like sheathed knives in their belts. What was that picture on your phone? they ask.
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.
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...
Lights out at 10 by Neil James
The hospital never sleeps. Even in darkness, light from the corridor slips under my door like floodwater. Footsteps squeak along vinyl floors.
A Few Words about the Weather by Kathryn Kulpa
1. Cloud Cover
“You’re pretty cumulus,” said my boyfriend, the meteorologist, and I asked if he meant I was heavenly.
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?
Problems with Zero by Mitchell Gauvin
When Zero came to me after Polygon’s attack, hands like knives cutting wind and flesh, I could see Zero’s hurt at having to endure in this geometry.