Wapiti Nocturne, by Douglas W. Milliken
Mum died in the last days of October, leaving—among other things—a lot of fall-time chores incomplete.
When We Believed the World Wouldn’t End, by Benjamin Cutler
After the final harvest, the forecast / called for freezing temperatures / and the end of this winsome world.
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.”
by Joseph Fasano
You’ve seen them in the deep sleep / of the season: figures sitting in a garden, / light on their faces as you enter.
by Gita M. Smith
Whenever someone asks me, “So, what do you do?” I like to say, “I am a crash test dummy tech for the National Highway Traffic Safety folks.”
by Cady Vishniac
A dead ringer for Josey. She sneezes as she walks into the pharmacy, and I look up from the newspaper I’m not supposed to be reading.
by Katherine Riegel
I never dreamt of you but of your parts: / my flatland home, the mountains my mother loved, / beach where I could look out and see only not-you.
by Sara Saab
From Hamra to Bliss St, we’ll list the loves we’ve thrown in the sea.
by Amanda Kabak
Now that Kate was safely out of the way—silenced permanently in a corner plot with a view of the freeway—the pedigreed vultures swooped in.
by Maggie Smith
The sky shakes us / like a shoe with a stone inside. / Even the smallest stone hurts.
by Alice Hatcher
Marylou was breaking it off with the human race once and for all, leaving the whole miserable lot for good, and this time for real.