Volume 7 Number 1
My father is a mime. Always waving his arms at us. Always drawing lines. Even in sleep, his nervous hands press and pull the air…
As David unbuttoned her blouse in the studio apartment on West 12th Maya wondered if they’d waited too long. They’d waited in high school, jammed…
When my daughter said they’d named their son Max “because he looked like a Max,” I didn’t believe her. “All babies look like Churchill,” I…
I. In the mirror there are two bruises. Line them up. They form a crooked black heart; an evil twin valentine folded in half. That…
On the first day I was alive, Michael Jackson held me. I remember every second of it. Santa Monica Hospital, October second, a Sunday. I…
Yes, Marisol writes poetry, and no, you can’t fucking read it. She glares at you over a mountain of hoodies. Stop asking so many questions,…
Some scientists did this study where they let rats have all the cocaine they wanted, only half the rats had access to sugar water and…
“Ruby,” he says. “You are a goner,” he says. Only he says it this way, “It is between the brainstem and the cerebellum.” He holds…
When my sister’s husband and I get drunk, we get grandiose about Texas. We’re drinking Lone Star Light tallboys, even though I’m ditching gluten and…