Issue 20

Silent Night Cre­ative Non-Fiction By Ariel Ambers           I know what a church pew feels like; to sit on, to touch, to be watched by. I know that even the most com­fort­able of pews can feel cold. Just because it’s been…

A Mar­riage is a Story We Tell and Keep Telling Dra­mat­ic Works By Danielle Frimer CHARACTERS* FI: Masc/butch, any race, mid-30s. EM: Femme/feminine, any race, mid-30s. *Gender iden­ti­ties and pre­sen­ta­tions are flex­i­ble, but this is a play about a queer couple. (If Em is not wearing…

Two Poems by M.E. Sil­ver­man Poetry Defin­ing the Third Element Lith i um [‘liTHēəm] n.  1. Chem­istry: soft metal that burns moon-white, light­est of the alkali, travels by river, swims in healing springs; reacts with our own carbon dioxide in Oxygen Masks, bends into plane,…

Res­o­nance Poetry By Mela Blust 1. a nuthatch brings his wife to the potted bleed­ing hearts my mother gave me. it hangs on the front porch, vibrant red blooms beside the glass door. i watch in wonder as they prepare the nest so close to the…

Plague Diary — Week XI Poetry By Finola Cahill I cook fresh artichoke—a head boiled bald,butter melted in the day’s brag­ging heat.The garlic bathes, my teeth glean flesh from eac­hear­ry lobe of bract, skin spit back to bin.The choke is lonely. I leave it that way,just…

Bosc Poetry By Leslie Miller When sun­light falls on the pearit becomes the meal of a long dead woman with heavy sleeves and small dog. Smoke from her chimney billows across the roof, and the wind presses rags of it closeto the ground like the…

Waiting For Gilbert Dra­mat­ic Works By Kelly Pet­tyjohn Setting  A typical living room in a sub­ur­ban house. There is a large window next to  the front door. A sickly house plant is in a pot on the floor next to a couch.  Time  Late after­noon.  Char­ac­ters  Astral,…

Oyster City Under Water Fiction By Madison Garber              Morning dawns gunwale gray and wet in Oyster City. The hur­ri­cane, first a roar in the night, then a howl, now a whisper of sea spray over the coast, barrels farther inland.…

Things I Wanted to Say are Locked Behind the Uvula Cre­ative Non-Fiction By Juheon Rhee           So when I didn’t say the things I wanted to say, I had hoped you would know. Do you remem­ber? You’ll shake your head. We’ve become…

Three Poems by Jonathan Diaz Poetry By Jonathan Diaz Vision: October 15, 2022 Having seen the smoke piling above the parking lot and the flames coiled around the cars      the fire­fight­ers instruct­ing the crowd to move any vehi­cles not active­ly on fire I…