Feral Boy

The feral boy sleeps at the foot of your bed.  You only get him one weekend per month but he refuses to sleep in his bed. You don’t get to have sex with your younger girlfriend because your feral boy curls at the end of your bed, waiting, like a stray to be taken somewhere….

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Douglas Cole, Featured Author

Joe   Joe lived in a cabin outside of Mount Vernon, Washington, a place his uncle built for hunting. I visited him there once or twice, on my way somewhere else. There was no water, no electricity, just a woodstove and black windows, and his things: a suit of armor into which  he had pounded…

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Marc Tretin

The Dining Room Table   is the universal receiver of all letters that will be answered and filed soon and bills to be paid next month and the sprawl of folders on diets and the health effects of prunes. It’s the holder of everyday intentions to make some sort of conscientious order of what we’d…

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Anthropology of Me

It should be Margaret Meade leaving her barely palatable threesome to figure it all out for me. I don’t live on the banks of the Orinoco: these rocks on the bottom are all paved and worn with ruts.   I do want to know why my brown eyes turned green after fifty years, why Ancestry…

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Steadfast

Wordlessly, she positions him beside her, leaning against the boat’s railing for support. She is now somebody’s wife. She is satisfied with their pose—only slightly more intimate than a prom photograph. Even now, twenty-five years later, I can hear the tension in her mouth. Her gaze is direct, flat. Her thoughts are elsewhere. The photographer…

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Smoke Break

I never told anyone but I’ll tell you. About the fire Folding up my tongue,   The last counted hour With my stomach shrinking Toward my graveyard spine. My body wanted to be pins   And needles, Balancing voided meals with Cigarettes. Burn marshmallow Fat like burning up   S’mores, Campfire chocolate, Childhood knobbles In…

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