Bread and Circus

Poetry by Michelle Correll You bestow your good graces as if you wore a laurel wreath upon your head. Yet, your features are too deep set to be considered classically Roman, and your mentality lives somewhere in the middle ages, King Arthur’s Arch Angel. Still, you invite me to your backlit five o’clock pavilion, Greco-Roman … Read More

One Arrow

A short story by Dale Childress He pulled the string on the bow all the way back and aimed at the dog’s shoulder. His fingertips touched his check just as he had learned to do.  The bow was only a twenty-five pound draw.  It had been James’ but he had given it to Philip when … Read More

Jay the Bird

Short Fiction by Elizabeth Royer Did you ever notice, with all the birds in the sky, that you hardly ever see a dead one? The first time in my life I ever had a drink was at my brother Nathan’s twenty-first birthday party.  I was sixteen, so we didn’t tell Mom.  That was eight months … Read More

Survival Rates among Suicidal Fish

poetry by Michelle Correll My sister’s goldfish bowl sits stacked among the dishes along the kitchen countertop like a greasy frying pan. We stare at one another the fish and I. He seeing only the reflected calendar in my eye acknowledged no resemblance between the two of us despite the fishface I make through the … Read More

Friends

Short Fiction by Elizabeth Zane “Happy Anniversary,” he whispers gently. The sun isn’t up yet and our alarm clocks haven’t gone off. I recognize his invitation well, as he scoots closer towards me. “Mmm,” I grumble as I turn over towards him. It’s so early. Too early. I give him what we both need and then … Read More

Dead Heat

Poetry by Michelle Correll Tolstoy’s midnight visions of San Francisco’s flowered guns appear, when pressing my fingers into your bulletproof vest, darkly shielded chest. Lead blooming heartbeats, that stain gun powdered lips, project me against sheet metal walls. While bracing myself in defiant expectation, I arch my back to angle my chin and brow. Singing … Read More

Pale Space

Short Fiction by Dori Ann Dupré It had been one year.   No one ever told her that when her husband died, she’d still feel married. For months. To a ghost, a memory, a photograph on the dresser. No one ever told her that when she finally purchased a small apartment, the lawyer at the … Read More