Issue 11.5 – Nonfiction

The first thing I always thought about was the adventure I would have in the forest. It was back in the early 2000’s when I used to play on the fields of my father’s farm in Pennsylvania. I can recall it vividly. There was nothing but a vast open space of green. A wide pond…

Issue 11.5 – Fiction

Four That winter I began watching TV while sitting in splits. I would plop on the floor in front of the set and watch cartoons while stretching my hamstrings. Groaning, I would bring my stomach to the beige fuzzy carpet of our small North Jersey apartment, pulling as far as I could, not minding the…

Issue 11.5 – Poetry

I was in my fifties When I finally figured out That it is OK to break off A bigger piece of the communion cracker. A piece that’s actually big enough to chew Instead of nibble between my front teeth. The older I get, the bigger the piece I break off.   And I have to…

Issue 11.4 – Nonfiction

5 “To disappear” becomes a transitive verb. For example: “La migra disappeared six people last week.” 4 Había una vez, the verdant plaza at the center of town thrummed with life.  Students spilled from the nearby community college, flinging Frisbees y pateando pelotas, chasing rare golden sunbeams and, catching one, collapsing bonelessly in the grass. …

Issue 11.4 – Fiction

All that spring, Catarina and Marcelo had been taking lunch on the low stone wall that marked the division between the private beaches owned by their respective employers. At first they would merely nod and sit some meters apart, silently contemplating the horizon while eating sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. But they had come to…

Issue 11.4 – Poetry

            For Papa and Neve   My wife’s instructions upon moving out: Put the old dog down, Chip. I haven’t.   Today I shoveled snow, Neve followed, decorating my path with piles of shit. I did the math, she’s over seventy: my age.   She’s been the meanest dog we’ve had, only nice to the…

Issue 11.3 – Nonfiction

She twists the lever, easing it gently past its usual sticking point, finally succeeding with a sudden jerk in opening the window to the mild breeze outside.  On a mission, she can only afford a glance at the emerald of the redwoods and the celadon of the bays, at the bits of blue sky and…

Issue 11.3 – Fiction

Kaitelinn won American Idol that year.  Sheldon, the loser, was made to sing a ballad about his failure and inevitable return home to Buttfuck Nowhere, Indiana.  Kaitelinn watched from the wings with a lower lip that trembled under the weight of so many emotions.  Her eyes leaked tears but her eyeliner stayed put.  When Sheldon…

Issue 11.3 – Poetry

Your face has that kindness foreign to me.   Your ease in transit on a Tuesday holiday-eve   radiates ‘family’   like your soft voice does, and your worn brown boots.   The voice in your ear, I gather, agreed readily to pick you up at Don Mills   and as we neared blackness you…

Issue 11.2 – Nonfiction

Existential crisis. A crisis of existence. I worked at a bottle shop at thirty-three, five months shy of turning thirty-four. I didn’t give two shits about booze going up or down a dollar, which it tended to do more than you’d want to know. I didn’t care about people having enough money or too much…