When They Come

Tommy Dean
When they come, hold your hands above your head, don't look them in the eye, and don’t spit on their shoes. James is going to want his frayed fluorescent orange t-rex, but we march to the speed of those voices of the men with the guns. His lip will quiver, and his hands will tug at your shirt, but he’ll ... Read More

Gene Pool

Jennifer Hambrick
They call it zero entry, the way the surround leans into the water and becomes the bottom of the pool, slowly angling deeper and deeper beneath the water’s surface. This way, toddlers can reverse their lives and, guided by their mothers, ease from dry land into a worldly womb as wet as the ones they left behind, though much colder ... Read More

Triplewart Seadevil

Will Cordeiro
                                          Cryptopsaras couesii Down in the body-lit night-sodden sea, somber, sub umbra, I’m this tiny restless inchling, a mere appendage, a would-be hanger-on. Dimorphic nub-end, destined to be a rudder attached to some underside. I blunder the deeps—I nose around for this blubbering fish out of Bosch, mega- mouthed she-goblin, face flush with cicatrix, visage like the dehisced petals of ... Read More


Michael Mark
Each morning she swept stars from the wood floor, cursing as the bright bits scattered, and barked whenever I’d whine. Her list of reasons why I had no right to be unhappy landed like lashes. At the open door she bent and snapped the broom’s bristles—forbade the stars to return. I didn’t ask how they got inside our room—the cracks ... Read More
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