In This Issue

  • A Mother’s True Level of Understanding Revealed

    Most children would be horrified if their mothers had decided to be a part of their school day experience. School is for you and your friends. It is the time when your parents are supposed to be the least of your worries, unless you really screw up and they get called. By Tom Chlipala

  • Haikus

    Outside my window / leaves rustle as children play, / welcome distractions......Wet squirrels besieged / our home this soggy A.M. / Cats strangely nonplussed.
    By Angela Mesaros and Dylan Smith

  • Two Poems

    there is an overcast of wrinkled sweat / it is gray, with pickled pigment of peanut breath / thick thighs throwing glances toward extinction
    Poetry
    by Aimee Herman

  • Lessons in Small-Town Hospitality: Arrow Rock, Missouri

    After parking the car in the driveway and unloading our modest luggage, we walked up to the front porch and found a note on the door. Kathy Borgman, the proprietor, was out for the afternoon, but as promised on the phone a few days earlier, she had left the door unlocked for us. (In fact, the door was kept unlocked at all times except overnight — our first lesson in small-town living.) By Katherine Hinkebein

  • Magnificent Obsession: Summer in the Garden

    By mid July, eight months pregnant and miserably uncomfortable, I gave up on maintenance of any kind. This resulted in a sometimes picturesque, sometimes melancholy experiment in what happens to a garden planted in the spring and then ignored. Photography by Blythe Hurley

  • Bone Poems

    My own body’s bones lying hard on a dirt cave floor / And maybe there is light and sunshine and truth / Outside, truth says Plato is real, not the shadow / And your world he says is shadow
    Poetry by Heather Momyer

  • She’s a Mad, Mad MILF

    Jennifer silently weighed her options. She knew what she ought to do was call the police. She should have that asshole thrown into jail where he could be gang sodomized by a group of hardened convicts. She wanted him to feel the same kind of shame and humiliation she was feeling, the same kind of violation.
    Fiction by Matt McCarthy

  • Three Poems

    You might be simply walking up the street to get the morning coffee. You might feel great. You might sweat out every single old fear...
    Poetry
    by Nate Pritts

Departments

 

Cover Image © 2009, Photography by Erica Behnke

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