Coal City

My yard insists on going topless, unashamed in May . . .

Ryan McCarty, "Propriety"

The head of a person so quickly/becomes that of a fish . . .

Laura Eglin, "Somebody"

My wife was in an angry phase. My fault, she said.

Patricia Lawson, "We Are The Dumplings"

Your death comes as a text./"I'm sorry. I know how pure/your love for him was."

Laura Chalar, "Pool, January"

Low-level fog drifts across the narrow dirt path as I struggle to make my way toward the Aguan River.

Patrick Cleary, "Redemption"