Need Comes Down Like A Mallett

And the town crier cries la localende! This is one of the stories where a stranger

        comes to town. A stranger with a stranger tool.

Come down from the hill freckled with mustard gesare. You know the stuff, Mara

        how it explodes in middle spring.

Nov 14, 2022
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The Draw

Nearing the corner I held the rifle steady, my trigger-finger taut. My heart thumped with this simple thrill. These new guns were quick to fire, and accurate, but we’d yet to work out how to store two rubber bands, so I still only had the one shot. I couldn’t waste it. Halfway to the corner, a blind angle obscured by honeysuckle, I paused, listening.

Oct 5, 2022


Don’t ever say
I didn’t see it

Sep 19, 2022


The perfect object is a bird never seen, heard, or otherwise sensed behind fir trees along the bank of a river sounding ceaselessly, while you walk with her hand-in-hand through the undergrowth.

Sep 10, 2022

Our chapbooks

Our chapbook contest may be closed, but past poetry and fiction winners are still available for purchase! Check out what we have on sale on our Submittable. Full page of past winners coming soon.

epigenetics or: time draws a circle

which summer is this
             arithmetic is one thing, freckles another
                  power drags from the east in a late august storm

Jun 2, 2021

Fire Dancer

I walk along dusty streets at the base of the Verdugo Mountains just north of Los Angeles, my gaze fixed upon the jagged horizon, where an angry orange line burns, jumping and snapping, devouring brush and charring the landscape.

Jun 2, 2021

Hallowing, or the Black Body Returns

reparations begin
    the body,   within
the striations of muscle
   to tendon, nerve to tissue

Nov 23, 2020

The Worst

I thought the worst was over. Surgery, chemo, hormonal treatment, which they don’t tell you is actually hormone-blocking treatment. So then: hot flashes, crappy sleep, looking for clothes that disguise my lopsided chest.

Nov 20, 2020

Ten Days to Hold You

A ditch-digger pauses from swinging down his pickaxe to notice me and wave. An old lady with a bale of hay balanced on her head wishes me good morning.

Nov 20, 2020

True Story

In Clark County, Washington – Oregon with a sales tax – the measles are back like jazz standards.

Nov 19, 2020

American Sycamore

did they forget
the vibration
of our throats
in the shade?

Nov 19, 2020


The pistol shakes in the sheriff’s right hand when he hauls me in for trespassing. O father, I have never seen your face.

Oct 18, 2020


O hunter, I was wrong: I want my casket made of particleboard.

Oct 18, 2020
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