Author: Ben Voigt

Painting Grass Eric Sloane, Pecos Ruins, ca. 1975 I don’t just picture him tipping all the blades— or I can’t sympathize just as a watcher would: abstractedly, instead, I flick my right hand several times before I catch it moving. I wanted to make some, not only to stand there. It must be, in our… Continue reading Emma Aylor

Love You Baby “There’s 60 buzzards in the yard” gathered around a shattered deer discarded by some charging Ram. “It’s been like this for days” Dad texts, dark omens crenulating his roof, shitting on his car, on his porch, their caws rattling like church bells struck with bike chains. Every couple hours he fires BBs… Continue reading Todd Dillard

Jayant Kashyap is a poet, essayist, translator and artist. He has received nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Sundress Publications’ Best of the Net, and is the author of two pamphlets and a zine, Water (Skear Zines, 2021). He has also been shortlisted for The Poetry Business New Poets Prize twice, in 2021 and 2022. His work appears in POETRY, Magma, The Fourth River and elsewhere.

The Squonk One day I will make myself so arbitrarily small that even the snow fleas, congregate in a gully, will miss my tracks. Not nothing, but close— like the squonk who, racing moonlight in the lumberwood, is desperate to avoid sightlines. Good hunters can follow the squonk’s trail, track it to its natural, watery… Continue reading Samantha DeFlitch 

p. hodges adams is a michigander poet who received their MFA from the university of virginia. their work has appeared or is forthcoming in shenandoah, cutbank, sycamore review, northwest review, fourteen poems, and elsewhere. they were the runner-up for the phoebe spring 2023 poetry prize and a finalist for both the 2023 c.d. wright emerging poets prize and the… Continue reading p. hodges adams

false spring I untangle the horse’s mane with my fingers dab ointment to his rain- rotted- crest. Two men coax an augur from a long, thin box wary- eyed dogs bark through Shrinky Dinked windows. The drug store on the corner is over- stuffed we wait fifteen minutes in folding chairs. Baby Darling, Dearest, My… Continue reading Summer J. Hart

Whistleblower The air itself isn’t dark, but it feels that way. There’s no moon, no stars. Or rather, there are, but not from this vantage point. Night is a hole in the basement floor and I am a mouse searching for somewhere warm to sleep. I recently heard AI has gained sentience. A whistleblower from… Continue reading Adam Gianforcaro

My Imaginary Daughter Asks for a Brother but one phantom is enough, don’t you think, darling? She splashes water out of the tub in response & I find tiny fish, maybe minnows, swimming in each puddle. Little biospheres. I show her how to scoop the water off the floor in pails. She shows me her… Continue reading Roseanna Alice Boswell

Derealization In a glass room, I wake in the sweat of lions. Angel-white lilacs lie facedown in my blood where my daughter cries at her representation in mirrors. I don’t know if she fears the rain is her autobiography as it shudders the glass wall between us. And yet—, I was born in my mother’s… Continue reading Chelsea Dingman

Do You See This? Do You See This? Get off the horse, marshal, shave your calf, coltsfoot. He stomps on my winter stores, I dust the palace in the buttonhole. There I will hurl a needy child composed of slick silicate tiles, the lake will begin to gargle like the span of Rustaveli’s mouth. Time,… Continue reading Tomaž Šalamun