Adrian Slonaker—St. John’s, Newfoundland Alex Andy Phuong—Alhambra, CA Ann Aubitz—Bloomington, MN Anita Haas—Madrid, Spain Austen Royce—C...

The Poet The ship crashes against the rocks and a poem Forms in her head right as she flies over the railing Something so perfect and bea...

CONTRIBUTORS Alex Andy Phuong—Alhambra, CA Ann Aubitz—Bloomington, MN Anne Goodwin—Nottingham, UK Anita Haas—Madrid, Spain Avijit Roy—Kol...

By Dr. P.C. Scheponik

By Bill DeArmond

The Risks of Poetry Arm in a sling, her broken shoulder mends into prosaic prose. She bore the voice of millions in her words Freighted, ...

The Alcatraz Swim An essay by Janice Strootman “Three, two, one, jump!” yelled the boatswain. The ferry was bouncing wildly, the engine...

The Unexpected Bliss of Death—and Life By Avijit Roy The bedroom is dark. It's been drizzling for two hours. A cold breeze blows into the...

Stones on the Path I focus on stones as I stroll along Some look fragile and others strong How would they feel if they became real? One h...

The Triangle The triangle on my block is more than a grassy knoll where children play and parents patrol. Stay-at-home dads cautiously fl...

Willow of the Wisps By Sue Midlock I am the oldest. A girl. A sister to four younger brothers. Dreadful beasts they are and yet, I am to ...

I am part of a wonderful women writers' group. About ten of us, give or take a few, meet every month for lunch and go around the table up...

CONTRIBUTORS Alphabetical by first name: Adrian Slonaker—St. John’s, Newfoundland Alex Andy Phuong—CA Ann Aubitz—Bloomington, MN Anita Ha...

Welcome Mat The ongoing search for intelligent life in the universe should start at home, in our dumbing-down Earth, where we’re in despe...

WINK: Writers in the Know magazine’s 2019 Pushcart Prize nominations: Small press editors are invited to send in six nominations each yea...

Berta I was nine the summer I learned what cruelty was. It was then I knew it was true, what Tom had said. Berta really had killed two hu...

Taste the Words Flash Fiction by Anita Haas “What colour is it?” she asked, running her fingertips over the surface of the plate. “White....

Choices A sweet young, long-haired beauty Opened wide her red-lipped mouth to sing, Blurting out a message that’s hard to hear: “It’...

grass does not ask why one blade lives another dies O to be so wise —Teresa M Riggs Foushee experiencing joy in the present moment feels ...