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 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.
by April Ford
If I could have a daughter, / it would be my life goal to make sure she never—not in a million years ever— / confused one kind of touch for another.
by Roy White
Let’s make a wedding photo, you and I. / I’m blind and you weren’t there, but between us / we can do this.
by Annette Gendler
February 3, 1946. Rain pounded the railcar’s roof. Karl felt as if inside a drum. A stuffy drum, smelling of wet wool and unwashed bodies.
by David Salner
In the North Country, there are blues so perfect / you want to tear your heart out to be alive / and sober.
by Douglas W. Milliken
The only work he could find was at the truckers’ paradise on the north side of town where the main drag reverts into a numbered highway.
by Carol Malkin
Sara had selected the young girl, and Teddy and Sara had trailed her from the noisy waterfront club.
by Alexander Weinstein
It was Rocket Night at our daughter’s elementary school, the night when parents, students, and administrators gather to place the least-liked child in a rocket and shoot him into the stars.
by Justin Hamm
On the playground I strum guitar while my daughter dangles upside down from the bar above the tall slide, and inside my middle-aged brain a movie plays.