Writing
Peace in the Valley by Kate Schapira
Who lives in the valley? Whoever is there at the time. It’s because it is a place that we can be there, and we owe our facts to this, if not our natures.
Poems by Chandler Lewis
You’ve seen children hold mirrors / to mirrors, trying to find the end of it – / and want to tell them, there is no end /except the eye’s weakness to see
A New Life Begins by David Winter
Before that, he had never hit a woman. Before that, he found her on a corner which both of them had frequented, where they had first met one another, and where he had never imagined seeing her so naked.
Because of the Wind by Anna Yin
We take a walk and go further / down another block / until we meet a pomegranate tree.
Haikus by Nick Feder
and in the springtime / what did the storms wash ashore? / mayflowers, pilgrims
The Cub by Liz Wachtler
We met at a party. One of those perfect nights, keg-fueled and warm. It was the end of the school year, Junior year of college, and– whatever. That part isn’t interesting, because it happens to everyone, all the time. Meeting someone, and talking, and laughing, and exchanging phone numbers, and kissing (urgently, I have to go! My ride is waiting! Call me!). Oh, Elsa, with your soft hair and wide shoulders, and your voice like sandpaper, low and grainy. Elsa, with your hand on my neck, below my ear. Call me, Elsa. Let’s go on dates. Let’s hold hands in movie theaters, and drink cheap beer together, because we can, because we want to. Let’s be young and frivolous together. Let’s spend the summer naked together. Be my girl.
The Retainer III (Regret I) by Ellie Horowitz
The beat of occurrence takes place / in the ‘rain falls a million syllables.’
Orpheus’ Draining Head by Rickey Laurentiis
Orpheus in hell is Orpheus alive, / his pride still much wider / than the god’s
I’m A Video and I’m Almost Over by Alex Gomez
This my jam. I remember Britta used to play this for me. Who? Britta. She went to camp with me. Sports camp. First kiss. Smudged knees, grass stains, and peanut butter. All gone, I guess. When did you go? Go where? Go where? I can’t remember. Look it up on Facebook. I tagged you. I tagged Britta. I tagged you and Britta. Together. On the Internet.
Poems by Chandler Lewis
As the air goes, the blood / becomes quick & pure. / It’s the weight of it, though, / that slowly brings the animals / around, to consume their host.
