Leftovers by Alexandra Englehart

His crème brûlée is starting to grow mold, Cream and yolk separating Like he and I on the sidewalk that night, Slowly but steadfast, No chance of reconnecting. Our jambalaya has hardened, The peppers and onions have soured And turned to mush. Condensation drips from the lid like our Conversations after he decides I am not what he wants, quick and to the point, no real flavor left. This refrigerator is full of boxes, bags, and Tupperware; Hands I still want to hold and Voices…Continue Reading “Leftovers by Alexandra Englehart”

Toast by Alexandra Englehart

I want you to feel me in your veins like fire: darkening, hardening, burning. I want to melt over you, under you, inside you like butter. Lay me down, spread me out until I seep inside, a taste you can’t get rid of. I want to break you in two, feed on the soft parts, feel you crunch in the middle. I want to throw you away, the pieces that don’t matter. the tasteless edges: lifeless, broken pieces, So there’s nothing left for anyone else….Continue Reading “Toast by Alexandra Englehart”

Satellite By Devany Solanki

You screamed the captain died You cheery messenger Of a depression-drugged paper What else must you preach about this life That heroes decline That a kitten survived That we are all so slowly losing our minds To blame the media that you smile so sweetly for And the good soul I took my captain for You shake images into fuzz boxes I made my TV turn static Because you wreak havoc On every channel that gets signal From a satellite that floats dismal Wanting so…Continue Reading “Satellite By Devany Solanki”

blue sky was only sun. the kind that keeps you swallowing and raining for the duration of walks or the number of dark needles between your hard toes. warm water softens to let me pluck them from my insensitive skin, the kind that tree roots had inscribed with a marred sense of justice.   cellophane — transparent materials or something i remember better and impossible movements were inevitable in the economy of “way back thens.”   blood, purple, and sour vomit in my parent’s home:…Continue Reading “the culpability of distance to burn a place by Micah Giraudeau”

Catawba, Virginia         nearest hospital: 20 miles   My mother clings to the passenger side door of my father’s baby blue pick-up– to be traded for a minivan two years later– watches the golden headlight hit dirt and gravel. My speeding father asks, one last time, if my name could be Samantha. She whips towards him, owl in angry flashlight: “She is not coming out of me With that name.” In my mother’s first year of teaching Samantha kept lice for the entire year. She…Continue Reading “Catawba, Virginia by Allie Hoback”