GASTROPODA

At the softball game, the mothers band together, the fathers together. It’s tradition. No one violates tradition, unless the spillover of...

As we shuffle into class on Wednesday, near-sighted Nellie spies a shiny golden apple on our teacher, Mr. Ward’s, desk. The apple has a...

Autumn, Part I A Golden Shovel after Nora Ephron’s  “You’ve Got Mail” Midnight, the bed in Milan, you and I  Still in our shoes would ...

A little liquorice packs quite a punch Insidious sweetness with a salty sting Black blissful oozing with a silken crunch A tooth decay...

Pied and light-footed, known by its two shades. White among corvids,  dark among doves. Nesting  in a ribcage of mud and twigs.  Never...

Suffer with me. However fast we Run we will never Reach the sea. Suffer with me. This is a strange Place, a hard Place full of Sadness...

A man stood on the rooftop of his 20-floor apartment building, knowing himself to be full of borders. He had ridden the train home from...

It slides down like regret, coated in the aftertaste  of another sleepless night, and I wonder if pain is just another way to measure...

It was the day she’d gone to the beach with Rob she was bitten, on that third date. It had to be. She hadn’t thought she liked him enough...

When My Dentist Tells Me I Might Lose a Tooth I think Finally—this is the perspective I’ve been looking for . Not the tall guy with the...

Beckoning in silver bark that defies the spring snow, She shows me tender unfurling catkin  cascading from her skin, preparing for seed, ...

Max collects bugs. Crickets, cicadas, stick insects, one golden Weta. Rae helps him to catch moths and butterflies, North Island Lichen,...

cabbage, tomato, and rice topped with orange cheese; tongue burnt in a bite. Terri Gower is an English as an Additional Language Teacher...

I rock away my loneliness in a hammock behind our new rental, with its unpacked boxes, its knotty pine cabinets, its old trees in the...

yeah, tracy. as if it’s a place. the poem doesn’t have a soul. any blood. plasmid, scion of slugs. not the religious or lyrical heart....

Hope is hard. We imagine it must be planted in the rich, wet earth, sheltered from frost and hail and the scorching heat of middle-day....

the tree line is an old eyebrow behind a faceless snow. a truck swerves to miss someone fallen, shovel flung in the air. the flakes try...

Maybe you don’t believe in the Loch Ness Monster. Maybe you’ve never thought to. There’s a lot to concern yourself with in the sixth...

Holiday Socks Sitting alone again, in my apartment, my reflection in the turned-off television. The red tips of my holiday socks (raptors...

Alone in her room, Gladys traces the edge of the world, picturing a wall with a sign: “The End.” She watches herself climb to the top of...