This is a Dove This is a dove, I think. I’ve never been good at bird identification. That’s funny, now that my job is picking up dead ones killed by the windmills’ spinning blades. There are 60 windmills in this “wind farm,” lots of dead birds. I think I might get a book. I mean, […]Read more "This is a Dove"
Bones Where I am from, women have broken fingernails that dig in the dirt like badgers, looking for bones. Bones mean yes, a lovely spot for pansies. Plant two there. We scrub our hands before dinner. We get the dead dirt rubbed off our palms like it was bad, what we did in the garden. […]Read more "Bones"
The Clean Bugs, The Dirty Carpet The trending of past negative scars, the warzone isn’t out there it’s in here, the armed militant swans of the underground resistance have bad credit and worse mannerisms, ghetto apartments inside of the unknown and Terminus City are doorways to the abyss and anti-social personality disorders, funerals for forgotten […]Read more "The Clean Bugs, The Dirty Carpet"
Permeating with Cockroaches the bathtub water runs constantly but only cold now, the cockroaches scurry, a Make America Great Again inspired nationalism pride parade, crossing the Atlantic, in lonely plastic bottles wrapped in corporate ad slogans and drifting hate, a last call to: a last stop in: Morocco Albania Ghana Argentina, suicide seems like an […]Read more "Permeating with Cockroaches"
Naming of Parts After Henry Reed Spring eased the almond blossoms open and promises of cherries while we named parts left over from winter. Collusion. Taking away, reducing, throwing in the trash legal widgets that keep the water pure, air open to the cherry’s pollen flight. We named parts with words round to our tongues, […]Read more "Naming of Parts"
Eulogy, Old Pine This plank in my hand feels warm. My fingers, cold. I am alone in my wood shop with pieces of a working class tree who was sticky and rough, who could be prickly when pushed, who whistled, who drank only rain, who manufactured cones at prodigious rate, who sheltered the nesting owl, […]Read more "Eulogy, Old Pine"
Overnight Mom’s short-term memory no longer tethers one moment to the next, so I’m at the hospital to stay overnight with her following breast cancer surgery. Though she still has moorings in the distant past, recent events float quickly to a further shore, so my job is to keep retying her to a drifting present. […]Read more "Overnight"
Andreas Block is a young transfeminine writer based in the Chicagoland area, pursuing a BA in Creative Writing at Beloit College. They enjoy exploring a wide range of genres in their writing, from poetry to sketch comedy. They are also a performer, having acted in a number of theater productions throughout their collegiate career. Kid Pat Have […]Read more "Kid Pat"
Jacqueline Hampton doesn’t believe in coincidence. When the former biochemist turned high-tech exec discovered she’d worked with not one, but two murderers during her career, she started writing stories laced with poison and humor to remind people that the “things that never happen” – just might. Exeter The bottle explodes at our feet, spraying Denise and […]Read more "Exeter"
Andreas Block is a young transfeminine writer based in the Chicagoland area, pursuing a BA in Creative Writing at Beloit College. They enjoy exploring a wide range of genres in their writing, from poetry to sketch comedy. They are also a performer, having acted in a number of theater productions throughout their collegiate career. If God & […]Read more "If God & Satan Were Pals"