Do you remember when we set the campfire in the summer? The six of us, too much cider, and I was the stranger amongst old friends because I’d barely left the city lights and everything was alien. The fire was all smoke, and heat we didn’t need in the still-bright sun, but we were celebrating …
i’ve come to italy looking for something to lose. something to dig my nails into for once. a kiss on each cheek when you enter the room. the sweetness of friendship. i love to sing the fluttery names of girls with dark curls in their hair. girls who keep helmets beneath their school desks. girls …
Before that October morning on the front steps, sunlight slanting down hot in a season long since gone cold enough that everyone had put away summer things, he'd taken his coffee with milk and sugar. As she shooed him out to the porch, the screen door slapping shut behind him, she breathed his name—despite how …
tangle your legs / with my thighs your belly / to my breasts make / soft cacophony with rough / sighs and pleading whispers groan / our parting mark round / shoulders with fingernails slice / plump with urgent / teeth stitch us together with ache / embroider us with need Katherine Anderson Howell writes …
Dara had brought seventeen stuffed animals in her mother’s suitcase. One of them—a lion named Tangy—was missing. Joanne shushed her. “We’ll find it later,” she said. “We don’t have time.” Joanne was right. Andrew wanted to play the game. Glory would start in an hour, so they had ten, maybe fifteen minutes before Aunt Lisette …
mitochondria are powerhouses of the cell but even youthful skin breaks under the weight of the sun. the rays, strong and inconsistent, form heat traps like claws that kill membranes and shred cytoplasm to get to the inner walls of the nucleus. lysosomes try to digest nerveless tendrils of light. my body swarmed with waves …
Continue reading “my body is a science experiment” By K.S. Hufford
a girl with one shoe in her hand runs through the leaves she is not smiling Samuel Harris writes from Tauranga in the Bay of Plenty, New Zealand.
When I moved to Marquette on the brink of a teary and violent coming-of-age, I was twenty-two and fell immediately in love with the freighters sulking in and out of the city's two harbors at erratic hours, and the ore dock where they sometimes landed. From the sixth floor of a fancy hotel where I …
Burnt Pine 