Continue reading “Boone Lake by Rachel Sobylya”“Moonlight glints off mason jars
huddled ‘round our feet in the bottom of the canoe
squished together with flashlights, fishing poles.”
Boone Lake by Rachel Sobylya
I Guess We’ll Have To Be Secretly In Love by Courtney LeBlanc
Continue reading “I Guess We’ll Have To Be Secretly In Love by Courtney LeBlanc”
“To not even think your name but keep it under my tongue, like a pill I cannot allow myself to swallow.”
Reptiles by Evan Parker
Continue reading “Reptiles by Evan Parker”“and from that ejecting window ive stood out in the rain looking into the little slits in the blinds bound by something—someone called it god once; christ; small/insignificant—barely even able to breathe; sour under night lights and brown shade”
Waiting To Miscarry by Dorsía Smith Silva
Continue reading “Waiting To Miscarry by Dorsía Smith Silva”“You tell her in hushed tones that leave shadows. Think of my belly’s desperation. At this early hour begging for space to speak, its weight pressed tightly down. What a twisted silence.”
In Filth You Will Be Found by Sheila Mulrooney
Continue reading “In Filth You Will Be Found by Sheila Mulrooney”“I still have the carpet from Ikea with stains from my salt when I’d cross the room, kiss your left ear, and call you Al.”
Crossing by Kindra McDonald
Continue reading “Crossing by Kindra McDonald”“You stole the canoe, I sank in the water, took a breath and swam. With every inhalation I saw you paddling beside me across that long, silent lake to the hot springs a mile away.”
Everyone Says They Saw The Signs by Marissa Glover
Continue reading “Everyone Says They Saw The Signs by Marissa Glover”“Some boys absorb their father’s punches—release them in sports or turn them into song. Some store the hits in a bruised body, saving them like pennies in a piggy bank, waiting to cash in when the market’s strong.”
They Does Not Fit Like A Thundershirt Should by Nicole Oquendo
Continue reading “They Does Not Fit Like A Thundershirt Should by Nicole Oquendo”“I have slipped in and out of pronouns as if this body was a fitting room. The lighting isn’t right here, and each curve of my body is a segment that, deep down, I’d like to carve out, but she is all I’m left with—”
Leap Years by Marissa Coon Rose
she melted from the thinnest boundaries of her place in the moment—three-thirty on a Wednesday in the year two-thousand-something-something– her stillness itself a sun dial with a long shadow that moves through time without knowing
what it means.
Likely Red Press 