by Lisa Shirley WE HAVE DUG UP RAGE After a line by Octavio Paz, “The Petrifying Petrified” We have dug up rage this time of #metoo finally opening the river of hurt the ache of not believing anger is a solace although I have feared for my entire life … Continue reading THREE POEMS
Fiction by Ron A. Austin (In celebration of Ron A. Austin's debut story collection, Avery Colt Is a Snake, a Thief, a Liar, we're pulling a story of his from the archive. This one originally appeared in Big Muddy 18.2, and it's included in Ron's collection, which you can order here.) Before the corner store failed, Grandma used … Continue reading NOBODY PROMISED MILK AND HONEY
I’m already wondering about my writing and these three people who weigh in on everything with likes disappear and I wonder if I’ve transgressed in some deeply embarrassing and previously unknowable way. Like maybe the number of black band t-shirts I wear in photos is too high, or the quality of bands on the shirts I have painstaking curated is not up to snuff. Or maybe I post too many articles about Ian MacKaye and Henry Rollins and have reduced myself to dad rock even though I have no children, or maybe the number of sunset photos in my feed renders me emo in an unsavory way that clashes with my carefully accumulated and maintained second-wave (or is it third-wave?) cred.
by Lilian King Échange The man named Jacques sleeping on my couch only speaks French, so I cannot ask how he got there. Instead we share wine from a box, watching Marvel movies with subtitles. He paints watercolors on the back of cardboard from boxes I thought I already packed, repeating J'ai besoin de medicaments … Continue reading TWO POEMS
by Christopher David Hopkins Ghost Dad Skips Band Practice I come up with new band names while I’m waiting. The Grateful Dad, I think, but he is not. He abandoned the drum kit, the empty stool still spinning shyly when I arrive. I strum, try to sing a few songs from our setlist, but without … Continue reading THREE POEMS