Hidden in the Bone

by Jim Krosschell
Lately, as I’ve progressed from little walks around the living room to real walks around the block, the neighborhood seems to be different.

Face Value

by Randy Osborne
“I don’t expect you to remember me,” she says. The Atlanta bar is loud around us. She’s maybe late 30s, with dark hair and eyes, apple cheeks, a certain kind of defiance about the lips.

Sunday

by Lee Martin
A porch swing sways, and the chains in the eyehooks screwed into the rafters let out their lazy creaks as if this is a day of rest for them, too. Or nearly so.

Secrets in the Landscape

by Cathy Herbert
The day he went into the hospital that last time, he told me he was not at all afraid of death. He did not believe in God.

I Have to Catch Fish so Jason Can Get Married

by Matthew Sullivan
Jason has four children all born from different mothers. Child support will glean most of what he makes this fishing season. Does he know that? I won’t tell him.

Pornography and Poetry

by Isabella David
“Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembr’d” has always seemed to me the most perfect pickup line, although it didn’t work so well on Ophelia.

Backspace

by Tracy Harris
We used typewriters decades ago, and carbon paper and different colors of white-out. If we made a mistake we could correct not just the original letter but each carbon copy as well, in the correct color.

Things I Did Not Learn From Dead White Male Authors

by Jennifer Zobair
I have loved books by white, male authors. I have stayed up all night with them, avoided studying for the bar exam with them, sought refuge from broken hearts or unrealized dreams with them.