In the Old Packard 

Connemara Wadsworth
Maybe a hand-me-down from Uncle B, smells like a garage. Surely he’d found it, fixed it up, tinkered with it,
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Night Blindness

Beth Konkoski
When you wake me I am blind, closed around the night and faded like the quilt, born of the black
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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
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Rumors

Charles Rammelkamp
When I read about Mike Tyson taking a psychedelic drug called 5-MeO-DMT, derived from toad venom, I remembered the rumors
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Everything is the Same, Only Quieter

January Pearson
I push my dad past trimmed plots of Bermuda lawns orderly with hedges, hawthorn bushes bordering garage after garage unopened,
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Bioluminescence in Newport Harbor

January Pearson
 When the water glints like onyx shushing the dock, empty sailboats huddle and rock, when a red-winged blackbird tricks
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Den, the Vomitous 

Evelyn Somers
Isaac was in love with his T-shirt. It was pure, breathable cotton, size L, with sleeves that hit just below
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Apprenticeship

John Amen
My brother & I memorized our parents’ epic – their screams & grunts – mastering that pidgin of volatility. We
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Gene Pool

Jennifer Hambrick
They call it zero entry, the way the surround leans into the water and becomes the bottom of the pool,
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Direction

Francine Witte
Like a bloodstream cell that only knows its way to the heart, or the waves flowing oceanward, beachward for a
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I Think I Did It Wrong

Michael Mark
University. Waverly. I kept saying the street names in my head. Greene.  Astor. So I’d know how to get back
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Child’s Play

Linda Murphy Marshall
One by one, Kate picks up photographs from the piles of mostly black-and-white shots strewn around her on her parents’
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Judy In The Sky With Toxic Masculinity

CL Bledsoe, Michael Gushue
Judy invented this sport where she loaded a herd of cattle onto a cargo plane and took it up to
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Hopper Man

Lucy Simpson
 (“Me only cruel immortality consumes…” Alfred Tennyson, Tithonus)  Grasshopper stoops; his shadow, an elephant holding a parasol, plods along achromatic
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Faking It

Adam Tavel
A dug-up corpse could wear your favorite shirt face-down on the gorge’s scrubby floor beside the burning s’more your flipped
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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,
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The Things You Wear

Stephanie Dupal
You stand near the arboretum gate, your hip against the ornamental rock etched with the resonant words of a conservationist.
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Gyroscope

Mark Crimmins
For a couple of years I didn’t use the rope. It was one of those revenge presents. My relationship with
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Into the Mystic

Kay White Drew
“Head up,” my father says softly as my eyes open. His dream-voice sounds just like his real voice did fifty-plus
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Interview with Maureen Pilkington

Nathan Leslie
Maureen Pilkington’s fiction has appeared in anthologies, journals and magazines including The Antioch Review, Ploughshares, Puerto del Sol, Confrontation, Bridge: Art &
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Interview with Reuben Jackson

Nathan Leslie
Reuben Jackson served as curator of the Smithsonian’s Duke Ellington Collection in Washington, D.C. for over twenty years. His music reviews have
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Melanie’s Song by Joanna Biggar

Charles Rammelkamp
A sequel to her 2010 novel, That Paris Year, which followed five California girls on their junior year abroad, in
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Apology

Michael Mark
Each morning she swept stars from the wood floor, cursing as the bright bits scattered, and barked whenever I’d whine.
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