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Daily Archives: January 15, 2017

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the heavy beauty

                                Heather Bourbeau’s fiction and poetry have been published in 100 Word Story, Cleaver, Duende, Eleven Eleven, Francis Ford Coppola Winery’s Chalkboard, Open City, The Stockholm Review of Literature, and

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Capture

                                Heather Bourbeau’s fiction and poetry have been published in 100 Word Story, Cleaver, Duende, Eleven Eleven, Francis Ford Coppola Winery’s Chalkboard, Open City, The Stockholm Review of Literature, and

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firekeeper

                                                                Zareen Zahra Zeero is a currently-itinerant trans nonbinary woman and stimulus arranger from

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Archetype of the Cage

            Robert Evory is a poet and musician from Detroit, Michigan. He is currently the Assistant Coordinator for the Creative Writing at Western Michigan University where he is the Poetry Editor for Third Coast; he is also the Managing Editor

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Wingdings

                            James Croal Jackson rediscovered his love of poetry while pursuing the film industry in Los Angeles, and his poems have since appeared in magazines including The Bitter Oleander, Rust + Moth,

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Cape Hatteras

DH 1979-2002 Coyote wakes me up at 2 a.m. He taps his paw against my shoulder blade— he’s never looked this old before. He turns away when I pull on my shorts. there’s the shadow of his back against the wall, the ash of my

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Coyote is Dead Near Exit 202 in Ohio

This morning the hens greeted me at the barn door, clucking and pecking along, checking my bootlaces for grain dust, while our four goats cried from their pen in the corner, climbing the woven wire gate, little beggars. It’s just past Full Peach Moon— walking

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Ritual for a Fever

“Susmaryosep.” Eyes shut, old housekeeper pours the solution over me: Lagundi, bayabas, sambong. Riotous scent heady in roiling water. Maligno, spare your erring daughter. Diwata, relent. Aba Ginoong Maria, look down on me lying in bed, nursing fever, frame unmoving.   Soleil David was born

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Riding Shotgun

Ralph knew that it wouldn’t last, but he liked how her hair hung blonde to her waist, the bones of her face, all the curves of her. They came together in spouts, at the end of the day, after long talks on the phone about