She stood in tears amid the alien corn -John Keats This is something buried long ago In which eyes find different shapes. This is you banging on steel drums, Conjuring…
At night after her stinging work is done she dips a stiff quill in her own blood & writes brother brother brother brother brother brother brother. But in every capacity…
The day we returned home from our family vacation was the day before we found household items growing in our garden. We pulled into our driveway at 8:12 p.m. The…
Rain fell the day he went to the shore, to see the place where his wife left him. Grey weighted the clouds like sacks full of stones, sagging closer and…
I bend my Cardinal’s rim and conceal my smirk as I tentatively enter Mrs. Robinson’s suburban home. Deal was if I did what she said, she’d mentor me in the…
Fig. 875: 6×4” menu printed on cream silk, fraying at the edges. Embroidered in black thread, entitled “Midnight Breakfast.” Service includes a single grape from the giant’s vineyard, a fried…
in dirt and thread, two birds eying the loose hem of my skirt. Stag-boy and I stand between the words owl and nest, feet bare in the river bend, mud…
The boy I love has a swan’s wing for an arm. He is one of seven brothers who was cursed and lived as swans till their baby sister came and…
We fear the growth of weeds, pour deadly potions on exotic leaves. Still, crown vetch takes the walkway when our magic weapons fail. Dandelions crack roads to rubble; bindweed splits…
Faces bowed, children of the Indian subcontinent swallow naan and pulses, masses filling holes. I dust off my eyes, imagine heads building a canvas. An art of a kind, those…
Gingerbread House Lit Mag 