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Zayn Leaves One Direction, Teen Girl Twitter Universe Mourns

By on Mar 12, 2017 in Poetry | Comments Off

Everything seems to happen on a Wednesday — now he is gone and I have a thousand names, a handful of universes, a hot flush behind my teeth. Mermaid cheeks, where did he go — now he is gone and I have a thousand names, videos of screaming, thinning whistled T-shirt teeth. Mermaid cheeks, where did he go — cat eyes dying into 4th period. Please get videos of screaming, thinning whistled T-shirt fusion. Vigils send tendrils up his jaw, hammerhead cat eyes dying into 4th period. Please get out of bed come back. 34 tattoos, samurai fusion. Vigils send tendrils up his jaw,...

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The Weightlifters

By on Mar 12, 2017 in Fiction | Comments Off

The Northfield High weightlifting team needed bodies.  Of the original ten-man team, six had been cut, busted with fake IDs up at the Pleasureland strip club off the highway.  One guy dropped out after knocking up a sophomore, and another guy quit after getting pinned to the drop floor accordion-style under a ninety-kilo snatch without a spotter around to pull it off his neck.  Connor decided to try out for the team, because it’d keep him out of the house when his stepfather got home.  He was running out of basement sheetrock—five fresh holes punched last Thursday...

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Last Witness to My Childhood

By on Mar 12, 2017 in Poetry | Comments Off

Sister, I wanted a seesaw: both sides taking turns, pushing the other up. But your legs were never strong enough. For years, I felt cheated, like you’d swiped my favorite teddy, hidden it inside your crooked spine. Daddy said, “No, you’re the healthy one, the lucky one. You can ride the swing by yourself. Touch the sky with your toes. She can’t, unless you help her.” Now Daddy’s gone, Momma, too, and we’re both too old to ride seesaws. Sister, I learned to admire you the day I saw you triumph in the shower with only bars for assistance. You taught me to value my solid bounce on...

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Featured Works: Week of Feb. 12 (Struggles of Faith)

By on Feb 12, 2017 in Issue Archives | Comments Off

When everything seems to be going wrong, how can you hold onto faith? This week’s contributors examine this issue, along with the concept of religion. In the long-awaited conclusion of “The Broken Cross” by John T. Hitchens, an adolescent boy questions his faith in the wake of neighborhood drama. The poem by Sean Lause, “The grackle as invisible priest,” uses a religious metaphor to make a nature observation. In the humorous piece by Jason Howell, “A Vegetarian Backslidden,” God’s attempt at vegetarianism accounts for some biblical...

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A Vegetarian Backslidden

By on Feb 12, 2017 in Fiction, Humor | Comments Off

On the seventh day God rested, so Sunday dinner was up to Lucifer. While chewing enthusiastically and explaining to his angels that, for much of the beginning of human history, his most confusing creation would believe their planet was not only flat but the center of the universe (to hearty chuckles all around) God ate in contentment. But, towards the end of the meal, the creator abruptly began to brood. Seeing his lord staring off, his hairy jaws full but no longer moving, Gabriel asked what was wrong. “Well,” God both swallowed and answered hesitantly. “It’s the food.” “Oh, I...

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The grackle as invisible priest

By on Feb 12, 2017 in Poetry | Comments Off

They possess nothing but two noises— one a skeleton clacking upstairs, the other the shriek of wounded stars. What heartless god curses this summer bird with such a hue and cry? They descend like black angels expelled from heaven, and land like an affront, croaking the rudeness of the blinding sun. Who clothed them in this inky cloak then cast them unsponsored through the air? Two clash over some discarded scraps, lock beaks tight on each other’s throats, then tumble through the dust like cowboys. Their thirst must wait for distant storms. Why no bath, no house to succor them? Every...

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