Letter from the Editor Title Story: “Breakfast Alone” Eric S. Fomley Accompanied by: "connected" - Stephen Briseño "I See You" Michelle Hansen “Spring begins somewhere” Jennifer Wolkin “Volcanoes & Hurricanes” Caitlin Cording “Nightfall” Jen Persichetti “Suitcase Full of Broken Dreams” Amanda McLeod “The Child, Up in the Tree Again” Eric James Cruz "The Huntsman” Hannah Storm (Creative Nonfiction) “And These, My Least Best Selves” Jen Rouse Accompanied by: "Thorns and flower

CREATIVE STUDY Fabrice Poussin collection of photographs Artist's Statement: The (following) photographs I sent are part of three different collections. "Gateway to Her Secrets," is a more recent piece. I photographed the Delicate Arch in Utah early in the morning. The great American West is one of my favorite places, and Utah tops the list of those states. I have been going there regularly to try and capture the sites under different conditions. "Gateway to Her Secrets" Each

Sunken City of The Ancient One by Eric S. Fomley Thom was tormented within, anguished beyond measure, and stressed by life. He stood in the bathroom and looked into the mirror, into himself, until the mirror rippled. He heard the sounds of waves, saw a sunken city in the glass. A malevolent and ancient voice beckoned in gentle whispers. The vague reflection of a squid-like face appeared. Thom wanted to go. To be free. He bashed his face against the glass again and again, scre

Death Opens by Jennifer Wolkin The day I found out you died I saw perennial carcasses cry & then begin to bloom again from beneath a frozen patch— I saw your reflection in the resulting puddle now a child’s playground a place to play with purity- droplets splashing everyplace. ________________________________________ Jennifer Wolkin is a health/neuro psychologist, speaker, writer, and mental health advocate. She is most passionate about writing at the intersection where the m

"ONCE IN SMITTEN MOON: The one time the moon meets its match: The ever lucky Shooting Star." by Neel Trivedi The Other Side of the Nightmare by Jan Keenan I’ll look out of the window as the city colours give way to shades of green. A young mum with two kids will sit opposite sharing sandwiches from a beige Tupperware. The kids will bicker over who has coke and who has lemonade. The mother will smile me a fellow-traveller kind of smile. I’ll smile back and turn to the window,

"doodles10" by Matthew Yates Self-portrait as pie by Gervanna Stephens A little bit of this a dash of that. Cut and fold to remove lumps of self no longer one no longer whole. I’m combined dark and light till creamy to set in dish greased no stick, for I am neither. Skewer then to test, ready, raised, different. Firm and crested— brown, as a result of mixing parents two— Batter white and mixture black. _______________________________________ Gervanna Stephens is a

Lifehack: Hushing a Troublesome Boy Creative Nonfiction by Chad Musick Who doesn’t dream at night of dosing her son with ipecac and then, when he goes to vomit, just... shutting the lid? One terrible accident, and you can dine out on the tragedy for years. Unfortunately, those little monsters we call boys can surprise us. Perhaps yours didn’t even make it to the toilet before leaving a mess, or didn’t know he should have been too ashamed to tell about the suppositories your h

RHINO by Salvatore Difalco They said I was a mistake. Or rather, they said I was mistaken. My ears have grown smaller and smaller over time. I cannot explain it. Sumptuous women and men wearing white masks bid from the gallery. “I want him because he is beautiful” “I want him because he is brutish.” “I want him because he is black.” Someone covers mouth with hand: woman in pink. She could have been embarrassed by the comments or appalled at the lack of respect people have for

Soulless by Jen Persichetti To be soulless is an art An art you have taught me – and taught me well My heart has yet to thaw and I crave afternoons of solitude Cold winter mornings entice me and I despise junipers in Spring Storm clouds and abandoned farmhouses sit atop mountains of lies I count the minutes until the sun goes down, so I can bask in the moonlight of deceit Chrome edged stars litter the sky and each one holds a secret… Night has never looked so good _______

photo by Sarah Huels uncover my hollow by Savannah Slone unveil my tethered roots: outskirts unzip my heavy molar my watercolor waves my pale ribcage deflower my inlaid scapula stitched with thick wool thinning thrusts aflame accelerating tonsils, heaving melody because my quilted uvula has depth a patchwork profundity thoughtfully placing tree seeds that are grown like me standing tall in the dusty moon radiation intersec