Palloncino, by Lauren Lynn Matheny
Whatever the color, there had been a balloon. There had been a boy. And there had been a fall.
Ode to a Bee on the Small of Your Back, by Partridge Boswell
Blind to what tickles the delta of nerves there / you rub a humming with the back of your hand
by Michael Mark
My father puts the milk carton / on the kitchen table. Declares, She bought it—before.
by Rebecca Foust
If Pastor Dale’s deer-stand was built as a place from which to squeeze a hair trigger, it also ladled up a grand view of the valley below, thick with hickory, sycamore, and elm.
by Dina Peone
One night in my mid-teens, I was under the covers in my sister’s bedroom, deep asleep, while flames spread from a nearby candle.
by Jen Bergmark
Technically, you needed only one eye to take a photo, but you needed the other to see.
by Lee Martin
Over the next few weeks, a series of strange and unsettling incidents occurred. On more than one night, Glory was jarred from sleep by angry shouts coming from across the street.
by Marissa Glover
Doctors cannot tell you when you’re born / how many pitches your arm contains.
by Lois P. Jones
In your next life you will be / birthed in needles / of hoarfrost, your eyes still / in the blue gauze between
by Roy White
You can die in January if you want, / and lots of people do, but this far north, / nobody gets into the ground till spring.
by Benjamin Thomas
There’s a piano player in the restaurant on the night Zoe tells you she’s pregnant.
by Mike O’Mary
“Put on your winter coat and get a warm blanket,” I told my daughter. “We’re going out to look at Christmas lights.”