Land Flowing with Milk and Honey


My mother is fallow ground, 

dry and cracking. She shows off

her lack of vitality in every shaking step, 

sways and almost falls. 

There is no more grass here, 

but she's moving forward, yellow 

spreading to everything she touches

like watercolors in rain. I say mama, mama 

I say, don't you know your body is dying?

Yes, she says, yes but you can't take my living anymore.






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About the Author

KELSEY FUSON is currently studying at Furman University. She has fractured both her wrists and her right hand and was once hit in the face with a baseball bat. She loves her dog a lot. She hates carbonated drinks. This is her first publication. 

Mid-Morning, Minnesota - Martina Reisz Newberry

Mid-morning minnesota - martina newberry.png






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About the Author

MARTINA REISZ NEWBERRY’s most recent book is "Never Completely Awake" (Deerbrook Editions, 2017). She is also the author of "Where It Goes" (Deerbrook Editions). "Learning by Rote" (Deerbrook Editions) and "Running Like a Woman with her Hair on Fire: Collected Poems" (Red Hen Press). She is also the author of "Lima Beans and  City Chicken: Memories of the Open Hearth"—a memoir of her father (one of the first men ever to be hired at Kaiser Steel in Fontana, CA in 1943)—published by E.P. Dutton and Co. in 1989. 

Newberry has been included in "It Happened Under Cover", Ascent Aspirations’ first two hard-copy anthologies, and the anthologies "In The Company Of Women," "Blessed Are These Hands and Veils" and "Halos & Shackles: International Poetry on the Oppression and Empowerment of Women". She has been widely published in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. 

Newberry has been awarded residencies at Yaddo Colony for the Arts, Djerassi Colony for the Arts, and Anderson Center for Disciplinary Arts. Passionate in her love for Los Angeles, Martina currently lives there with her husband, Brian, a media creative.

You can also find her here:

My Uncles - Kimo Armitage


My uncles


heave the sea turtle onto

the makeshift plywood table and

sharpen their knives on a wet stone.


By the time they are done

the turtle’s bones and carapace

are cast aside in a pile.


I put my hands in,

feel the force 

that it once was,

and understand its majesty,

this life that swam oceans.







About the Author

KIMO ARMITAGE draws upon the rich stories of his childhood, spent in Haleiwa, HI, where he was raised by his maternal grandparents.

Armitage published his first novel, The Healers, with the University of Hawaii Press in April 2016.

Wrinkles - Amy Kotthaus


People stare at the wrinkles on my hands.

I’m pretty sure they do.

These hands shouldn’t look this old;

I’m not. 

It’s the constant washing.

Change diapers- wash.

Go to the bathroom- wash.

The moisture is gone,

and the skin puckers,

especially at those knobs

of bone at the wrist.

The soap triggers a rash 

along with tiny cuts that sting 

under scalding water.


Making chicken soup leaves a mark.

Start with clean hands- wash.

Rinse and peel carrots- wash.

Repeat with celery- wash.

Cut ends off and peel onion- wash.

Dice onion with new knife- wash.

Rinse and cut chicken- wash twice.

Cook soup- wash.


The lines on my knuckles deepen

like so many hash marks

keeping track of how many times 

I’ve cleaned them today.


I wonder if people question why

there are so many bandaids

on my fingers.

I once told a phlebotomist

that I got attacked by a rooster;

to explain the bandages, I mean.

Really, I didn’t want to chance

getting blood from the last patient

in my cuts. 

It seemed more polite 

than questioning her methods. 


Cleaning bathrooms is a process.

Start with clean hands- wash.

Place clean hands in gloves.

Spray vanity with bleach cleaner.

Wipe faucet, 

then countertop,

then sink.

Throw out gloves- wash.

Don new gloves.

Apply toilet bowl cleaner.

Throw out gloves- wash.

Don new gloves.

Spray toilet and seat with bleach cleaner.

Wipe down.

Scrub toilet bowl gently

so as to avoid splashing 

toilet water up towards face.

Throw out gloves- wash twice.


I don’t touch buttons with my finger tips

but with the knuckle on my pointer finger.

Too late I forgot there was a cut there,

and I pressed the elevator button.

I called my primary care physician

to see if I should get tested for…something.


I called my OB to be sure.

They’re in the same system.

Did I just call my regular doctor? 

Yes, but the OB would want to know, 

like when I shook that moth

off my belly and thought,

perhaps, I shook the baby too.







About the Author

AMY KOTTHAUS is a writer, translator, and photographer. Her poetry has been published in Ink in Thirds, Yellow Chair Review, Haiku Journal, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Gnarled Oak, and Section 8. Her photography has been published in Storm Cellar, Ground Fresh Thursday, Crab Fat Magazine, Quantum Fairy Tales, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, and Digging Through the Fat.

You can also find her here - Twitter: @amy_kotthaus

One Thing - Hayden Bergman

The one thing I think I know

About mythology is that Apollo

Pulls the sun across the sky.

With a job like that

His house must be amazing…

But it must be gloomy when he’s gone

Me, I’d like to take my pitchfork

And break in while he’s working,

Use my star to light it up again.

I’d rearrange the furniture

Give it that mortal feng shui

And get drunk on his head-splitting wine.

Also (If I know me) I’d jerk

Off cause from that view

You’d look damn good.





About the Author

HAYDEN BERGMAN is a writer living in Abilene, TX. He is currently enrolled in the M.F.A. program at Fairleigh Dickinson University.

Tues Morn / Irreverent Y - Shareen K. Murayama

Tues Morn

i threw a big dinner party

w chicken bones on

plates in the sink leftovers.

i slept w a girl w short hair

who loaned me her art

for tues wed n thursday.

but i didnt see thm.

i was trying to explain,

whn the sound of wheels

of my husband's suitcase rolled

down the hallway.

i wanted to hide the beautiful

girl w short hair.

Irreverent Y

On the occasion of my partner C’s autopsy


They cut you from each shoulder joint

to the middle of your chest

where my head would vibrate to your deep, deep voice:

  a sighing of a hundred bees

beneath a white cotton sheet





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About the Author

SHAREEN K. MURAYAMA received a Master's in creative writing at OSU Cascades. Her poems have been published in Bamboo Ridge, The Gambler Mag, Toegood Poetry, Phoebe and Inter|rupture. She’s the recipient of the NEH Asian American Film and Literature in NY & Spring Creek Project Collaborative Retreat.

You can find her stalking her #poetcrushes @AmBusyPoeming, unless, she's uhm, you know, po-eming.

Winter Must Come for I Must Fall Out of Love - Madison Nanney






About the Author

MADISON NANNEY is a 19-year-old college student living in Mississippi with her mom, dad, and little fur child, Bella (a feisty black cat who hates almost every human being she has ever met). Madison attends Itawamba Community College in Fulton, MS, majoring in English.

She has recently been published in the 2017 edition of Itawamba Community College’s literary magazine, The Calliope. 

Lies in the Dark / Moon's Truth / Tidal Love - Jessica Simpkiss


Lies in the Dark

The taste of their sin still lingered on her lips, his scent still etched into her skin

In the shadow and safety of their late night love affair, he whispered words that squeezed her soul 

There would be a price to pay in the end, and the currency would be her pain

Lie to me again, she begged

And so he told her that he loved her

And it was the most beautiful lie he had ever told

Moon's Truth

We laid silent, sweat-stained skin pressed against the others as we listened to the rain fall above our whirling heads.  Upon my grand exit, my love-struck eyes were greeted by the sight of the yellow-Cheshire moon hanging over the dew-rinsed meadow.  Always such a beautiful sight to end our love-crazed nights; I stood in awe of the passion of the evening.  Memorized by its beauty, I almost missed the sound the gun made.  I turned as the pain struck my back to see blond hair in a tangled twirl; my last earthly memory, the moon’s grin upon my sinful ways.

Tidal Love

His love for her was like the tide 

A constant ebb and flow 

Powered by the controlling moon

So jealous of their love, the heavenly body never let them touch too long 

But sometimes when the moon loomed heavy in the midnight sky, his wave embraced her long enough for him to whisper his love for her

In the salt that splashed against his skin 





About the Author

JESSICA SIMPKISS lives and works in Virginia Beach, Virginia with her four-year-old daughter. She has a degree in Art History from George Mason University. While she has always loved writing, she is returning to the art form after a ten-year hiatus, in hopes of finding her voice again.

The Autumn Wedding - Danny P. Barbare





































About the Author

DANNY P. BARBARE has recently appeared in Humanities Education Research Association and Hollow and The Santa Clara Review. He lives in Greenville, SC with his family and dog Miley and works as a janitor.

5 Snapshots in the Rain - Michael Estabrook


in the rain - 1


blonde in a green parka

eating a banana


beneath an umbrella staring

at the ground


in the rain - 2


blonde eating a banana

in a green parka


beneath an umbrella staring

at the ground


in the rain - 3


blonde in a green parka

staring at the ground

eating a banana


beneath an umbrella


in the rain - 4


blonde staring at the ground


beneath an umbrella

in a green parka

eating a banana


in the rain - 5


blonde in a green parka


beneath an umbrella staring

at the ground

eating a banana







About the Author

MICHAEL ESTABROOK is a recently retired baby boomer child-of-the-sixties poet freed finally after working 40 years for “The Man” and sometimes “The Woman.” No more useless meetings under fluorescent lights in stuffy windowless rooms. Now he’s able to devote serious time to making better poems when he’s not, of course, trying to satisfy his wife’s legendary Honey-Do List.