coughing out dust from a butter churn waiting for auction.
Tasting upholstery shampoo from the dining room chairs
that will sell for pennies.
It weathers her lungs.
The air has the poison of the family’s past.
She breathes down into her belly
to pack what tiny bits of life she can carry out,
to discard ghosts
the fantasy of an unencumbered self,
a new way to quiver.
I Subscribe to a Newsletter About Chronic Wasting Disease
and I don’t know why.
I recall the herd of elk
that wandered near Banff.
Three or four families together
slow purpose, watchful
side-eye to gormless tourists
who aim phones at wapiti targets.
The rangers arrive in pairs first
warn the crowd that filters
from the sulphur museum
where glory-day photos of bathers
hung in a hall cave of stench.
How did the rangers know?
Maybe the elk
texted their intention
or they trot this way often
to gawk at weird, unusual humans
like we flip through Vogue,
or people watch at the mall.
Maybe they demonstrate majesty
for lesser creatures
because I saw kings and queens
family
community
lives with purpose
on an ancient alpine trail
and I was jealous,
so jealous.
Virginia Doré
Virginia Doré lives on the traditional, unceded, and unsurrendered territory of the Algonquin Anishinaabeg peoples in Ontario, Canada. Her first chapbook, An Adult Child’s Garden of Toads, was shortlisted by Waxing & Waning for the 2026 Apogee award. Her poetry has appeared in Arkana, Hare Paw’s Literary Journal and RoughDiamond’s anthology, Reflections of the Mind: Mental Health Poetry. When she is not writing poetry, she argues with herself and enjoys walks with her dogs.
Ryo Kajitani is a queer artist and art model based in Tokyo. Kajitani studied oil-based woodblock printmaking at Tama Art University (2010–2014) and completed a doctoral program in Art and Design there (2019), studying under the late art historian Kunio Motoe (1948–2019) and cultural anthropologist Yutaka Nakamura. Their research applied the ontological aesthetics of Martin Heidegger’s The Origin of the Work of Art to artistic practice within exhibition spaces. Kajitani also works as a full-time graphic designer. Since 2021, they have created photo-collages that rework photographs of the body through digital editing, code-based image processing, and layering. Recent highlights include INT’L All Media 2026 at Minot State University, USA (2026); an online exhibition with Galeria 5ª ao Sul, Portugal (2026); the Montage Award at the Meta Morph AI Award, UK (2024); a finalist award at the Asia Digital Art Award FUKUOKA (2024); a Top 100 selection at the Social Art Award (2025); an exhibition at the Trenton City Museum at Ellarslie, USA (2023); and participation in NFT London and NFT New York (2025).
in 1959 they’d bring you a carton of milk every day at 2pm.
a mid-afternoon pick me up for twenty 2nd graders who sat dutifully at their
wooden desks between math and geography, taking the slow steps
to growing up. for a quarter a week every
afternoon gary, who died of aids fourteen years later wheeled a cart between five rows
and delivered the milk while scott, who became a carpenter because he
understood angles and how to measure things; marked off the
names in pencil with a crooked check mark and minded the names with
an X beside them who didn’t get milk because they hadn’t paid a quarter.
I kept my head down, pretending not to care. I cared, of course I cared.
but I had never paid, I never had a quarter. I was seven years old,
too young to have a quarter of my own.
And I didn’t want to ask. I knew no way to bring it up
to my father who sat worn thin as explanations every evening
smelling of black dirt and sweat.
with the eyes of a poor men, scooping frijoles from
cracked plates. there was never a sliver of opportunity for questions.
no room between bites for asking. I didn’t want to see
his face and how the sun would sink a little lower behind him
when he dug into his pockets and found them empty.
Gilbert Arzola
Winner of the 2019 Passager Poetry Contest and the 2021 Rattle Poetry Chapbook Contest, Gilbert Arzola has been nominated twice for Pushcart Awards. His book of poetry Prayers of Little Consequence was published in 2019 by Passager, and a chapbook, The Death of a Migrant Worker, was published in 2021 by Rattle. His work has appeared in Crosslimb, The Elysian Review, The Notre Dame Review, Palabra, The Tipton Review, Craft, Acentos Review, Two Cardinals, Flying Island, and Rattle, among others.
Esther Zhang is a junior at The Winsor School in Boston, Massachusetts. Her writing has been recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, The New York Times, and Longfellow House. Beyond writing, she enjoys experimenting with digital and film photography, and her photographic work has been featured as cover art in Blue Marble Review and published in New Plains Review.
The rocks were slick and he carefully made his way along them. He wasn’t as agile as he was as a child and he stepped with care. There was a light breeze and the sounds of chickadees and the steady whoosh of the water seemed to be all around him. That made him feel much younger than he was. He was looking for the pool where he used to fish as a boy with his father, when they camped here all those years ago. It was where the trout gathered to feed and to rest and where he caught his first fish. But he was worried that he went the wrong way. He couldn’t remember and that made him uneasy.
Then he saw it. It was calm and glistened like stained glass in the light. It was exactly how he remembered it being. He felt a deep relief.
His father had always told him to fish the head of the pool, the faster water, so that’s where he began, perched on a rock. The clouds moved over the sun and everything became dull. Then the clouds continued and the sun returned. The colors beamed like a movie.
He cast and put the worm near the entrance of the pool and allowed the current to take it. It felt good to hold the rod and watch the line leave the reel as it disappeared farther and deeper into the stream. But before the worm could make its escape, he dropped the bail, preventing the line from feeding too far into the water, hoping the worm would soon feed a fish.
It had been a long time.
As he waited, memories returned, not as scenes or photographs, or anything he could ever describe or even recollect, but as sensations too strong for a single moment. It was as if a lifetime forgotten had suddenly been remembered. There was a penetrating warmth to it. Then, when he began to bring the line in, slowly and with rhythm, flashes of his father came to him—him sitting on a rock in a wide-brimmed hat, his eye glasses wet and smudged with fingerprints; him in the glow of the campfire, smoking a cigarette, quiet and composed, watching the embers crack and pop. And his father drunk and crying in the kitchen in the middle of the night after everything went bad. He imagined the worm beneath the surface and hoped a fish followed close behind.
Cast after cast there was nothing. A limp, loose line returned every time. His broken reflection in the moving water. The sun moved and he moved with it. The shadows had turned and he thought about returning to camp, but he didn’t want to go back empty-handed, so he rebaited, stood, and cast.
As soon as the line hit the water there was a strike. It was violent and broke the surface. He snapped back and felt the setting of the hook. The feeling rushed through him like a drug. He pulled the fish from the water, its smooth green spotted skin and pink stripe shining in the sunlight. He used a rock on the fish. He slit its belly open, removing the insides and the little heart, which still beat, and threw everything back to the stream, then he rinsed the fish and placed it in the kill bag and made his way back to camp where his wife and one-year-old son were waiting around a warming fire.
S.E. Wilson
S.E. Wilson lives with his family in Franklin County, North Carolina. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared in Chiron Review, The Berlin Literary Review, Louisiana Literature, Arkansas Review, The Louisville Review, New World Writing Quarterly, The Saturday Evening Post, and elsewhere.
Featuring:
Issue 119, published October 2026, features works of poetry, flash fiction, short nonfiction, and visual art by Linda K Allison, Gilbert Arzola, Sarah Barbo, Roger Camp, Barbara Daniels, Natalia Danjon, Virginia Doré, Chris Dungey, FruitAndNut, Tom Gdisis, Cleo Griffith, Lesley Hart Gunn, Mark Hendrickson, Zebulon Huset, Romana Iorga, Ryo Kajitani, Carella Keil, Merie Kirby, Grace Lynn, Daniel Moon, Sylvie Oleta, Josh Price, Stacy Rollins, Elizabeth Rosen, David J. Schast, Judith Shapiro, VA Smith, Stefan Sofiski, Lisa Christina St John, Valy Steverlynck, Kathryn Temple, John Walser, Megan Wildhood, Stephen Curtis Wilson, S.E. Wilson, Roberta Winters, Jean Wolff, Jason Youngclaus, Matt Zambito, and Esther Zhang.
64 Pages, 6 x 9 in / 152 x 229 mm, Premium Color, 80# White — Coated, Perfect Bound, Glossy Cover
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