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How we manufactured love
by Lucy Zhang Lucy Zhang writes, codes, and watches anime. Her work has appeared in Portland Review, Orca, The Suburban Review, Milk Candy Review, and elsewhere, and was selected for Best Microfiction 2021 and Best Small Fictions 2021. She edits for Barren Magazine, Heavy Feather Review, and Pithead Chapel. Find her at https://kowaretasekai.wordpress.com/ or on…
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The Garden
by Carolyn Supinka Carolyn Supinka is a writer and visual artist. She is a former Fulbright Scholar and received an MFA from Oregon State University, where she was the recipient of a Provost’s Distinguished Fellowship. Her work has recently been published in Hobart, The Hunger, Radar Poetry, and Sixth Finch. She is the co-editor of…
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There was a boy: Vermiform
by Nathan Dixon I. There was a boy at my mother’s junior high school, which would become my own middle school, a boy whose parents were Christian Scientists. Which made him a Christian Scientist. In the ongoing discussions around consent, we tend to leave the children out. Because I said so. The favorite phrase of…
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Burning a Life: A Memoir of Smoking

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This is All that Matters

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Apple Pie

by Lizzie Lawson The church kitchen. I’m at the rolling table surrounded by Catholic women my grandmother’s age. They peel and mix and roll and crimp. I flatten greasy dough into circles and throw them over open pies heaped with spiced apples and thick pats of butter. “Sometimes it feels good just to sit,” a…
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I love you

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Marie Antionette Awaits the Guillotine

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Small Rodents and Other Unwanted Things
by Heather Debel At night, we hear mice scratching in the walls, soft like they are sharing a secret. We feel the mice moving around us, hear their nails scuff across the rafters. The house is alive—little vibrations, fingers on a waxed car, door hinges. Liz thinks they are playing with her, some game of…
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Ghost Gifts
by Hollie Dugas In other words, objects I’ve given away coming back to haunt me, their tiny transient spirits tied to me by thread, coming back to play now that our lives are separate from one another—some kind of knickknack karma. In other words, it’s uncanny; another woman handling my trinkets, like the duo of elephant figurines, hand-painted with red dress and bow, bought…
