1605 2 3
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BABY MOUSE She and the baby squeeze into the neon blue star-studded rocket ship in front of K-Mart, a tight fit because the baby's still inside her and the ship is made for under ten year olds and the steering wheel dents her stomach and the baby backs up and…
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160573
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160597
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It sometimes happens a student remains a friend long after you both have abandon academe.
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160597
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You could hear her coming from a long way off
as she kept trying to catch her breath,
like she was getting the fun rattled out of her bones.
But it was laughter, laughter that kept on
filling up her belly from the inside,
and she was having tr
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160487
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1604116
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The time has come
to scrape the wax from my menorah.
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160400
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Sofia looked around and found herself at a boulevard. She could see the town exit ahead of her. The bike still lied on the ground.
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160400
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She says he is not a real person. He says he doesn't understand. And that she should be with the dudes who want to be her boyfriend.
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160442
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There were three other guys on the bus. The landlord (or buslord) let us use the kitchen and bathroom in the house he shared with his wife. I rode into San José City College with the other guys, who were also taking classes there. I remember frigid autum
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160444
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I arrived Sunday evening to a darkened house. Everything unplugged. Even the fuses from the breaker. Meticulous, this undoing. Silence has a sound. Cold has a voice, a pearly cigarette whisper. It says, “Metaphor?”
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1604117
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He got tired of the pool party, the chit-chat, the suburban posturing, and he decided to swim home.
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160453
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My sweet baby angel has baby hair Baby angel has a golden cross lit looking at the crystal pig and kind mare The drowning unicorn comes from the waves in fits. My sweet baby angel has baby talkBaby angel has a diamond shape scarburied heart shaped…
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160400
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...Loves and fights and retires; / And dies.
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160411
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By: Roz Warren (and Janet Golden)I'm a humor writer. My work appears in publications from The Funny Times to The New York Times. Janet is a history professor whose writing was confined to academic journals and the occasional op-ed. Driving back from the Jersey shore one…
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160433
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You were sitting on dark leather meringue, wearing slit ivy, epilated thighs sliding through, roots showing beneath your anaemic skin, fighting with the pale bluegreen of your veins. Quills extended from your left hand, bent about 10.2 degrees or so.
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1604108
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Toxins make a body happy/
as if acceleration toward//
an end of consciousness/
is its own reward.
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160400
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You are like gasoline on the fire of my desire–you send me higher and higher into paroxysms of earth-shaking erotic explosions. Remember–the “light” catfood is the kind in the turquoise bag.
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1604155
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"when I say bag, what I mean to say is…"
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160432
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We fold it end over end, meeting in the middle where she takes it, and I let go...
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1603179
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watch/
the second hand sweep
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160321
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Librarians love me,
you want to know why?
I don’t dog-ear pages,
I don’t even try.
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160386
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...this dim and empty room, and behind a wall of glass a flag materialized, backlit and fluttering, and I am not saying what country's flag it was, just that it was a flag, that awesome symbol of the nation state and fervid jingoism...
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160397
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160354
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The night before leaving, we have French toast and red wine in Matthew's kitchen, our packs and sleeping bags and tents surrounding us, looming like golems. Because we're nervous, and a little drunk, the conversation inevitably turns to grammar. "I'm sure I learned…
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160343
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You would think that a department responsible for recovering readers from falling into the illusory realities of their books would merit an office in a less obvious state of disrepair.
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160364
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This year I did not markthe day of your death.I let it slip by in an afternoonfilled with music you'll never hear,words you'll never read,a chorus of voices raised in protestat the unwavering passage of time.I don't need a numberto know that you are gone.Since you went…
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160384
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I had to kill someone today. Do not be alarmed, she was only real to me.
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160332
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The trash is full. Again. I open the bathroom trash—because the diaper genie is stuffed—but there’s no room. I try the kitchen next. The lid swings open, catapulting carrot shavings onto the floor. I lay the diaper on the counter for later.
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160310
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Shh!
What?
The downstairs neighbors. They’re at it again.
What?
It’s the weekend? They’re both home?
Oh.
Remember?
I think so. Sort of.
Shh!
What’s that grunting?
He must be doing the heavy lifting.
Sounds like he’s hurt
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160396
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I cannot begin to list all the ways this conversation can go downhill from here, so I hang up the phone quietly.
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