Instructions for Cleani...

By Sarah Freligh
I have my secrets. I take my time, stare at my face until I’m a stranger, a she who is not me. A she who helps herself to whatever will buff the sharp edges of the world.

Ctrl + alt + delete

By Chelsey Clammer
Consider yourself a task I have ended. Our relationship, a 404 not found. Our connection now disconnected.

Palm Funeral

By Adam Schuitema
The tallest palm on the atoll lost its fronds long before falling. King tides and storm surges had breached the walls, poisoned it with salt.

The Quiet Sadism of the...

By Heather Bourbeau
She woke to news of another stalemate, more children dying on the border, mounting humanitarian crises overseas, and a small mass in her breast.

Biracial

By Anri Wheeler
“You don’t look biracial,” he says, certain. We’ve just met.

Photo Story: The Trumpe...

By Natalie Wu
She waits in the corner, haughty and lacquered. I always sit close, inhaling her delicate scent of beeswax polish.

Carriage

By Sarah Swandell
The day of the appointment, I hit a bird with my car.

Catching Rose Baxter in...

By Sabrina Hicks
She slid through her memories, trying to capture one, fireflies filling summer near a croaking pond...

Cleansed

By Gary Duncan
She says don’t look in the bedside cupboard, so I look. There’s a Bible, a spare pillow and a small pile of toenail clippings.

Photo Story: Hydroponic...

By Tamara Stanley
It is mostly summer now. Above me there are skyscrapers, McMansions, slums...

Ghost Texts

By Esther Gulli
Before work, sitting in her crimson battered minivan, she reads his words again. Milk. Bananas. That bread I like.

Kim Addonizio Confined

Kim Addonizio tells writers to "imagine a sentence as a hall with a series of doors," in her book Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within. We asked Addonizio about the tiny rooms that some of those doors open upon to find out what drama, what lyricism, what life can reside in the small spaces of life.