by Reuben Hayslett Markus sits on the edge of my bed on night in January. His bulky arms stretch down to his pale work-rough hands, resting on his knees. I’m sitting next to him. He stares down at his shoes.…
Fiction by Julia Phillips
The old man’s dog kept barking. I called to Alex and we swam to each other and kissed, our mouths tasting like lake water. The dog swam over too and circled us… “Anya?” I called. She shouted, “This is the first really crazy thing I have ever done!”
Zoe Banks wasn’t particularly surprised when her mother, Adelaide, casually mentioned at the end of August that Zoe had both applied and been accepted to
My father once told me
he knew how to ride a unicycle.
I can’t imagine him balancing
on one wheel—a clown
riding down the block
by Madeleine Barnes
Your mother cannot remember you.
To her, you are an alabaster queen,
snakeskin and sundials, mineral crown.
She believes in circles, wedding bands,
orbits, covered your palace columns
in hoops and wreaths. Porcelain centaur,
ruby mermaid. Each became hers, so, yours.