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 us 
                               with its flare of dahlia,
... 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

Gyroscope

Mark Crimmins
For a couple of years I didn’t use the rope. It was one of those revenge presents. My relationship with Melinda, the dancer, was disintegrating. She was quite something. Serious about her dance too. Said she wanted to get into Juilliard just so she could turn them down. That’s the kind of person she was. She was a year younger ... Read More

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 years ago. He’s not putting me on notice, giving me a heads-up; he’s telling me to sail the boat closer to the wind. Dad had been a sailor since early adolescence. He’d raced small sailboats of the Star class from ... Read More

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 been published in the Washington Post, Washington City Paper, Jazz Times, and on NPR’s “All Things Considered.” Jackson is also an educator and mentor with The Young Writers Project. He taught poetry for 11 years at the Writer’s Center in ... Read More

Apology

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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