Arthropoda Californiae

by Annette Schlichter

Three weeks after my husband's cremation
I cancelled the contract
with the exterminator.
Now, I share a home with arthropods.
They teach me to inhabit
hollow spaces. Their movements expand
each room. An ant scurries ...


by Veronica Golos

You have to remember the Aspen grove;

the white stalks of trees, their stuttering leaves--

the descending quiet. Vesper sparrows. ...

every you, every us

by Rebecca Siegel

Think remember map our
every you every us every night every darkness
lay fear down
lay in sadness
carry this acre
taken from a map ...

Condominium Song #3

by Michael Shiaw-Tian Liaw

Steve speaks slowly, and because he is the 
Housing Association President,
he also speaks in detail, willing nothing ...


by Louise Mathias

Our contract was balletic—
you took from me the rabbits spooked

inside their still damp nest. ...

on alchemy

by Rita O'Connell

Never much good at judging distances
or my own physical strength, I imagine
this morning that I could swim across
the Mississippi, be in Illinois by lunch.

I can see it clear from here; the grass
you’d be surprised is just as brown yet
still it’s humming: other. O! to emerge ...

First New Year (Taos, New Mexico)

by Colette LaBouff

The mountain I hadn’t met lamented. It was you’re welcome; I’m sorry you don’t belong. It stood, said you don’t fit—sun hitting its middle ...

Back to quiet

by Felicia Zamora

And the blades of glass prepare for dormant;
think, think in stillness, under winter's palm in
swift approach; desire now this return to dust, ...

Person Another

by Raquel Gutiérrez

person who is not
my person anymore.
Who keeps you anchored in the ...


by Gail Wronsky

In the urn of the lengthening day
The man who will die on my street
Is walking backward toward traffic

With his shirt on backward,
A bright orange vest, backward, and
His dirty white hair straight up

As if it were fire. ...


by Francesca Bell

Although he stinks,
I love to hold his small
brokenness on my lap,
reeking teeth worn down
on a metal cage to almost
nothing, tongue that hangs ...


by Josh Honn

I ate
this morning
a clementine
this morning ...

Birds of Illegal Trade

by Benjamin Garcia

To be a traitor is to trade—
Take, for example, the blue macaw
of my childhood, traded ...

Schadenfreude, Austin

by Carrie Fountain

February is checking my e-mail
while waiting at the drive-thru
dry cleaners to pick up my husband’s ...


by Ángel García

I trace my finger along a warm map:
from Chiapas to Tabasco
from Tabasco to Campeche ...

Golden Eggs

by Stephanie Brown

Cooked, the socks, the pantry stocked,

Thanksgiving dinner for twenty.

Crab apples around the turkey on a platter I’d serve

Modeled from a photograph.

I was modeled on a photograph.

Clean floor, it was perfect.

One exact book on the table, dust it. ...