Issue 15 / Fall 2018 We are elbow deep in the dark, loamy soil we made from our own compost. I used to think getting dirt under my nails was good for me, that the energy radiating from the center of the earth would balance me. Now, I’m not sure of anything,...
Issue 15 / Fall 2018 At first, none of them said anything to one another. They never said anything to their wives either, or their sons when the sons came to the fathers, terror in their eyes, we did not think it would be like this. The fathers did not know...
Issue 14 / Summer 2018 They always stood on the train. The express was crowded during the morning rush. But even when the cars were half full, these passengers continued to stand, pressed into the dark corners of the train. They never talked or listened to...
Issue 14 / Summer 2018 The fish-laced ocean air is replaced by stale recycled musk as I mount the Greyhound steps and scan for an empty seat. Out the back window I catch a glint of sun on sea and the masts of sailboats in the harbor. There are no empty doubles....
Issue 14 / Summer 2018 Caleb’s kitchen table is covered in penises. There must be hundreds of them. Some are inked in red, some in blue, some are carved. A few notable specimens are bordered with glitter. They are almost all flaccid and uncircumcised—so...
Issue 14 / Summer 2018 Heather Lawrence lives alone in a townhouse on Long Island. Her husband died when the towers came down. Her only son Paul was a boy then, but now he is eighteen and enlisted in the Marines. Now he is in Afghanistan somewhere, searching...
