On Naming Women and Mountains by Lucy Bryan Green
_____I have known these mountains before, worn the dust of these trails, sipped from these streams.
Mother Moves Us, Father by Nate Liederbach
_____Mother moves us. It’s 1987. Because of the Alps, she moves us.
Sick by Harmony Neal
_____Police sirens rise and fall from my speakers over a dark driving beat.
border town by Amy B. Wright
_____My stepfather’s upper body rounds when we sit, and he rests his forearms on the table.
Smile4Waxy by Anthony Walner
_____Some of the following is a lie. I worry I am beginning to believe it true.
Crest by Susan McCarty
_____The car and everything in it radiates a dull, sick heat.
On Deadlifting by Bryan Furuness
_____I’m not a big man, but I have a powerful ass. This makes it hard to shop for pants, but it also makes one hell of a fulcrum
Everything But the Poison by Kelly Magee
_____Lauren was good at pretending things were okay when they weren’t.
Things That Sublimate in the Night by Mike Peterson
_____I work the midnight shift as an emergency dispatcher in the basement of the superior courthouse
from “Cloud-Capped Star” by Tarfia Faizullah
____A few days before Eid al-Adha, Keith invites me to go on a evening jaunt with him to the Ramna ____Kali Mandir.
The Miller’s Daughter by Ellen O’Connell
Ballet was something to say with your arms and legs and feet, and you said it to Baryshnikov and anyone else watching. Ballet was not something you talked about, it was something you did.
You Don’t Look Like Anyone I Know by Heather Sellers
I thought of all the articles I had read. How complex recognition was. How was I going to explain it? People would think I was mentally ill. “I haven’t ever seen her and known it was her and not said hello,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that.” I couldn’t imagine how to explain face blindness without sounding like a complete wacko.
The Country We Lived In by Natasha Lvovich
They had lived in a village in Belarus called Shumilino, a tiny shtetl, they were very poor, a mother with four children, a cow, and a garden. This is how they lived. Baba Hannah lost her husband very early and raised all her children by herself, she was illiterate but very, very smart, and when she aged, they took good care of her, until she died at 94. She was wise and diplomatic and when she issued her commands to the family, she called them “wishes.”
Little Roadie by Chavawn Kelley
Your chest puffed out, you held your shoulders back, your chin floated up. Such joy in a task! I followed and watched.