Joshua, by Jordana Jacobs
Inside the ovaries of my husband’s grandmother, Sylvie, resided an egg the size of a grain of sand that would have been Hannah, my brilliant and accomplished mother-in-law.
On Learning That My Daughter’s Rapist Has Been Taught to Write a Poem, by Katharyn Howd Machan
about his sadness. / About how the moon hung full / that morning, every morning
by Angie Ellis
I keep a list of songs I know well, so that if I get dementia people can reach the real me hidden inside my broken brain.
by Lori Nevole
My first girlfriend was Catholic, and thought no one would know she was a lesbian if she kept up a great manicure.
by Tommy Dean
We’re lying in the middle of a cracked country road, fireflies blinking a message we’re too human to understand.
by Betsy Porter
She would be devastated if something happened to him—a car accident, for example, it’s entirely possible.
by Jennifer Gennari
I want to be president / she says unprompted. / Her unfinished writing task / lies on the table between us.
by Karen Paul Holmes
When fifteen hours of Wagner’s Ring draws to a close, please Siegfried, don’t take the potion making you forget Brünnhilde.
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.