by Valerie Laken | Nov 1, 2019 | Fiction
Fiction by Sierra Stella You are three years old. You are lying on the edge of your parents’ dark wood bed, wailing. Your hair is plastered to your forehead in sodden tendrils, your damp, squirming body turning the maroon sheets nearly black with water. Your...
by Valerie Laken | Nov 1, 2019 | Fiction
Fiction by Carrie Close David had bought a forest-green 1997 Volkswagen Golf off Craigslist. Marnie found it hideous, but David thought it was a gem. He wanted to teach Marnie how to drive it, but she was terrified. She didn’t know how to drive a regular car,...
by Valerie Laken | Nov 1, 2019 | Poetry
By Violet Mitchell The squeaking porch swing andmy heels scraping the sidewalk paint ametallic waltz lit by the infected orange ofthe mercury light. I imagine myself swing dancing to this creaky orchestra at theMercury Café. I’d wear sturdy black heelsand watch...
by Valerie Laken | Oct 1, 2019 | Poetry
By Christina Locatelli There are no “right moments,” only worse ones. I came downstairs, bloody underwear in hand to show my mother, 7 a.m., thirteen. I learned what a uterus—my uterus—was. I learned why the hens run squawking from the rooster. I’d had my...
by Valerie Laken | Oct 1, 2019 | Poetry
By Lisa Compo My favorite porch. Light splattered and speckled my arms, making temporary freckles. This garden in the middle of the dry, this hummingbird cafeteria where a tree grows against all odds housing a cardinal,an incarnation. Its flittering like a...