weekend-readsReattachment

Stephanie Gayle

The workshop machinery pulsed chugachugachuga. Two-penny nails danced on the draft table. I was alone in the shop. The boys had left hours ago. They’d called, “Hey Kate, why not knock off and come to Grady’s?” but I’d refused. They…

Scene Two

Margo Berdeshevsky

In another garden, a poet’s brother had called the lark a fist of blood & feathers; she couldn’t tell me that. A shaman, failed, o my poor brother, she whispered for me to hear. Low light had sprawled on feathers…

Three Poems

Joshua Rivkin

Pastoral Almost. Almost is the shortest version of this story. That doesn’t say how at that moment, handed over from his arms to my father’s, then gently brought down to the sand, I didn’t feel gratitude. Saved from the riptide…

weekend-readsNever Sleep; Dear Empty Page,

Andrew Grace

Never Sleep Why shouldn’t it begin at midnight? In this dark room: a pen, a page, water, a television in its wreath of pain, a distance all around me like a sea in that it roils and stays still, waves…

Caesurae; Hearsay; Susurrus

Rae Gouirand

Caesurae The moon is half: an emergency I am: the madeleine in shadow invoked but not enveloped: born with blue eyes my color redoubled: a guessed-at form with an opal in her throat. I was told the scratch would close…

On the Sofa of a Synagogue in Vilnius, 1923

Quintan Ana Wikswo

Her in heavy pants, thick-waxed canvas work apron tied stout around her waist and chest, covered with paints and mud. Her son Leo doesn’t speak—he’s ten, and he has lost all his words, his recognition of her, and now his…

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