A Clean Sense of Disappearing by Tim Biddick
Honey by Jenna Danoy
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder by Isabel Mäder
Something I have learned in the past year
is that there are broken Heineken bottles on the crest
of every boulder in New England.
In Lakeville, in Jamaica Plain, in the New Hampshire places
I’m not sure have names yet, there are shards
of green glass beating back the sun like emeralds. Continue reading
Honey dripped from her son’s chubby fingers as clouds hung low over the mountains visible from the back porch of their new house. The sun, Molly noticed as she folded down Sebastian’s collar, had turned his hair a pretty shade of gold. Blond didn’t run in her family—she, like her mother, was known for her dark brown curls—so the color was something magical, something magnetic, though not strong enough to keep David around. He’d left nearly five months ago, stopped calling. Five weeks had passed since Sebastian had given up asking for his father, since Molly had noticed that he had David’s nose and had cried fresh tears about his disappearance, since Sebastian had started first grade and had forgotten about Daddy because he’d made new friends. Continue reading
Panic returns at two in the afternoon.
My lover reminds me that my eyes
are gray when I am sad:
storms on a sea.
The words fall deep into the hole I occupy.
I remind him that I have crossed every ocean
to arrive here. I am shivering
as if dripping and wet. Continue reading