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.

Man of Sorrows

By Kim Addonizio
Not enough to get crucified. You’ve got to be covered with red spots like an anti-vaxxer’s kid’s measles. Blood everywhere.

Mysteries of Sex

By Kim Addonizio
Things were going well, so I risked slipping my hand down my pants.  I seemed into it, so I continued on.

Plans

By Kim Addonizio
It’s hard to get together with his friends because they all like to hibernate. Everyone mostly prefers staying home, so when they make plans with him they often cancel, last-minute.

My Sister’s House

By Mary Grimm
I didn’t want to see the rooms half empty, each dish packed, each rug rolled up.

How My Mother Lost Her ...

By Nancy Ludmerer
In 1931, my mother Helen was 9. A daredevil, she challenged boys at their games, ignored their hair pulling, their scrunchy faces.

As Close As I Came

By Dina L. Relles
I spent the better part of a drive trying to say what love is and still can’t.

Ain’t Gonna Stick

By Lauren Kosa
By the time I met him, in my thirties, my expectations were properly tempered.

Because Some Doors Neve...

By Tommy Dean
There’s something about a baby-gate left unhinged. The way it lists to the right like a barn door left open for a pregnant stray cat.

Photo Story: Paper Moon

By Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri
Astride the swing ride, sky opens, vast, deep, lavender. I should be scared, suspended in the air. But I’m not.

Meaning Given, Meaning ...

By Santino Prinzi
We walk along the wooden pathways of Red Seabeach, breathing China deep.Crimson reeds glow, waving from the wetland like something fabricated.