Growing up, or growing blind, or something in between, an unavoidable consequence of autonomy, don’t you think? From our first theme issue, “women,” comes Lindsey Gates-Markel’s short fiction “Monologue.”
Preëmpting further procession of the celestial spheres, which probably is a lie anyway, here’s Tom Howard’s cold flash, “Ghosts“:
Repopulated from the archive after an ominous rest, here’s a poem for chilled clouds and chained winds, Sarah Stanton’s “Swarm”:
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Welcome, 2015 and winter here in the Northern Hemisphere. There are those among us who have less, whose desire has been honed down, oh, so far. Let us look, really look. Consider this short essay on being displaced, from our latest issue, Jeff Burt’s “I Am Homeless—Twelve Steps“:
The boxes are open, the sweaters unfurled, the trees all watered finally, the children (grown now) napping anyway. An album in a drawer, a frame on a lintel. Enjoy Elaine Moynahan’s delicate “Snapshot“: