The Study Mari Ness In the mirrors, a monster with stolen eyes and breath, hungry for human speech. In the doors the shadows of her wedding guests, mourners weeping over fruits and sweets. In the walls sweet roses and disease, harsh chemicals and slow decay. In the...

The Process Sonya Taaffe Kafka has gotten lost in his own adjective. Yesterday he wrote me from Zürau, but my address was censored and the envelope shook out a blue rat, the postmark in two inks dripping from its mouth like hemorrhage. All roads lead to Prague, he...

Life by the river Jamie Samdahl Every afternoon I swallow rain and it puts me to sleep     beside you I cross over     into your river dreams      each time our temples touch the muddiness     the sway of the bridge is irresistible...

The Saint Of Small Things, Weeping Margaret Wack Poison has always been the old enemy and usual culprit. Hunting, sometimes, though not as often anymore: stones, traps, snares, guns. The crunch, the blood. Best if quick, to fill some other stomach. Worse for sport,...

The Gifts Sandi Leibowitz For Sara Cleto and Brittany Warman The sisters parted once the gifts were given. No need now to thread their lives through a single needle; each had her own path to stitch. The younger one loved spring best so her work spilled grape hyacinths...