Crystal Pigs, by Allison Brice
I took my breakup quietly, like a pitiful February rain with no lightning.
Changing Hearts, by David Watts
I heard for the second time / the news of his heart transplant, / details like a post card from a foreign country
by Valentina Gnup
At sixty-one, I count and recount my remaining summers.
by Jeff Somers
When she signed the lease and moved her stuff into the place, she knew she was leaning into a decline she’d begun some time before.
by Douglas W. Milliken
Mum died in the last days of October, leaving—among other things—a lot of fall-time chores incomplete.
by Benjamin Cutler
After the final harvest, the forecast / called for freezing temperatures / and the end of this winsome world.
by Lauren Lynn Matheny
Whatever the color, there had been a balloon. There had been a boy. And there had been a fall.
by Partridge Boswell
Blind to what tickles the delta of nerves there / you rub a humming with the back of your hand
by Simon Perchik
These gravestones left stranded / warped from sunrises and drift / —they need paint, tides, a hull
by Kari Gunter-Seymour
Remember that time your dog died and I didn’t tell you for months
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.