* * * Thistle Dump Armistice I waited in Middlesex, ordered a Guinness at the Inn. Sea of crisis, south serpent. Lake of Perseverance, Lake of Death. I don’t know…
Prose
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Lightning flashes outside my window as an imaginary BluJay knocks on my door. He asks me if I’ve seen death lately. I ask him how he found my address. He…
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FeaturedFictionPoetryProse
The Birds: Another Red Ribbon – a nonbinary tale of absented love
by Guest Contributor April 5, 2021They were reading again. They were reading, and they were waiting. Waiting by the lake. “Lacuna” they read aloud, “Latin for a missing book, or a cavity in bone.” They…
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In the summer of 2012, I quit my office job and spent a month and a half on a solo cross-country road trip moving from Pittsburgh to San Francisco. It…
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Anne and I were standing on the mezzanine at the San Francisco Symphony admiring the veranda of the cityscape and trying our best to acclimate to the setting. I was…
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* * * I worry about the birds in a rain like this. Where do they go? Someone told me once that in a bad storm seabirds ride the…
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Creative Nonfiction / EssayPoetryProse
The Birds: The Silence of the Wrens
by Guest Contributor October 14, 2020July 23: six weeks of high summer still to go. A heat dome has simmered us in 110 degrees. When it breaks like a fever, we throw the windows open…
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Cumulus: You can’t see the sun — its watery glow tumbles from bellies of clouds and pools on a slice of blacktop. You’re there with your friends, peeling pieces…
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I. There was the squirrel my mom killed while in Colorado with my dad, before my brother and I were born. She slowed down to let it cross the…
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The moon is far away, but still it sways the tides Never look at the black sun, my grandmother tells my mother. My mother is a child, and…