Remains, by Maureen Simons
They came back every year to lay flowers at the spot. Two little girls, hand in hand, walked soundlessly up Nora’s driveway.
For My Siren, by Emily Bornstein
Don’t tell me there isn’t something pretty about you / (don’t tell me you don’t know it).
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.”
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.