a poem by Amy Pimentel
my curls entice him
the paleness of my face attracts him
his hands want to hold my ass
his mouth wants to lick my breasts
Nonfiction by Chris Wiewiora
The week that Lauren and I broke up, my father had slipped an envelope through the cat door sawed into the bottom of my bedroom door. A sticker of a mockingbird sealed the clasp. The front read: (to read after you’ve had your coffee and are awake).
Nonfiction by Kevin Rabas
Spindly Billy, with his black leather and chains, had me up and pinned to the top lockers. He was about six foot in seventh grade. They had Sam, his head bobbing in the toilet, as they hung onto his head and hair and dunked him. When he was up for air, Sam yelled, “Help, Kevin.”
a poem by Rachelle Cruz
After Gabrielle Calvocoressi
My mother in her flesh nightgown and I swallowed silence.
The bedroom door left ajar and I swallowed silence.
A book of refusal and I swallowed silence.
My sister’s corded laughter and I swallowed silence.
Nonfiction by Cj Hayes
It’s cold outside, blustery and nasty—the way that makes joints ache and allergies flare up. Pollen from the redwoods has been painting parked cars green all week, making a sickly mossy mess when the rain inevitably falls. Even now, my head is plugged with the microscopic drift of a dry afternoon.
I lie a lot. My poems often start with observation—literally writing down what I see and hear—but that’s not always enough. I find that writing poetry allows me to wonder and ask questions, and that’s what I was doing in these two poems [inspired by The Dining Room], a place that was rife with material. I have become much less afraid to invent things for the sake of poetry, but it always starts with some truth.
Nonfiction by Amanda Lee Hickey
1. Take two orange slices and a few sprigs of mint.
2. Squash them together for a few seconds.
3. Add ice.
4. Add one packet of sugar.
5. Add one part Grand Marnier.
6. Another part orange vodka.
My work speaks to the current state of relations between the natural culture and human culture and how they affect each other. In 2007, I read The World Without Us by Alan Weisman, a non-fiction account of how the world would respond if human civilization disappeared tomorrow leaving behind our waste. I began making paintings based on this idea. I envisioned animals making forts and dwellings out of our rubbish.
A story by Devin Walsh Arthur had planned a feast for Hannah’s homecoming and so had splurged at the grocery store. They’d begin with a spread of French cheeses, Spanish salami and gluten-free crackers. He would recommend a sprightly white:…
I watched my fear of life
tie one end of a long piece
of twine around its neck
and the other end to a roof beam
before it sat down
and went to sleep forever
(poetry by Nahshon Cook)
Nonfiction by Christopher Lowe
All I remember clearly is Super Mario Brothers. Looking back now, I can’t recall who from our family came into town aside from my cousins, Toot and Tonner, who helped us set up the brand new Nintendo. I remember sitting on the hardwood floor – slid as far back from the TV as possible to save our eyes – while relatives and neighbors and friends of the family weaved through the controller cords, talking about my father in hushed voices.