April 2026 | poetry
Cardboard Car Hanger
Its needle-sharp smell
penetrates the cheap shop,
the type where people riffle
through racks,
thoughtlessly throwing
underpriced things into carts.
Intended purchases left behind
in places different
from where they were picked up.
It isn’t supposed to be lying
between the car window screens,
let alone stripped
of its plastic wrapper.
In my father’s post-divorce car,
its cardboard twin had dangled
along with turns,
unexpected,
like the changes in his mood.
As I tense up,
my three-year-old squeezes my hand,
pleadingly persuading me
to leave
with Miffy-shaped screens,
the hanger staying
where it belongs.
Josje Weusten
Josje Weusten (she/her) is a Dutch writer/poet living in Belgium together with her partner and two daughters. She holds a PhD in literary studies, is an alumna of Faber Academy London, and teaches English literature and creative writing at Maastricht University. Her debut novel, ‘Fake Fish’, was published internationally by Sparsile Books (UK) in 2024. Her poems and shorts have appeared in various publications, including Litbreak Magazine, The Bookends Review, Flash Fiction Magazine, and The Brussels Times. In 2025, she won the Short Story of Belgium Competition 2025. For more information about her work: https://josjeweusten.co.uk/
April 2026 | poetry
Bettor in the Giant’s Den
The heart of the stone sweats
In the foothills of some place or another
(I forgot where now in Nevada).
The wet stone, moldy-in-sweat,
Moss drenched, marinated in
Fungus-warmth, red-splotched.
The casino is a lichen (or a mold)
In dragon colors and scaly,
Smelling of synthetic pine.
Somewhere in neon exuberance,
A casino ca-chinging or so,
Cradling addiction in the harmony
Of cigarettes and vapes, all tabac
And forth, back and forth,
Coral ashtrays, and a deck of dealts.
Tobacco and the backs of cards,
The intricate carpets like soil:
Straight spades almost flushed through
And digging into the foundations.
The casino sweats like a
Filthy giant lying down naked,
Slathered in Axe Body Spray
Lazing across the rocks.
Daniel Thompson
Daniel Thompson was born in Tübingen in the Black Forest of southern Germany and moved to New Orleans at six years old. He lives and writes poetry there to this day. His latest work can be read in The Banyan Review, Sojourners Magazine, The Orchards Poetry Journal, and will be upcoming in The Chiron Review, New Square, and The Delta Review.
April 2026 | poetry
Unfavorable Weather Over the Bay
All week the wind pushed rough water
up over the bulkhead, wave on wave
as far as you could see to the other
side of the bay. Buffleheads and gulls, unfazed,
bobbed up and down like surfers calmly waiting
for the perfect ride, disappearing,
reappearing. A week of alternating
rain and sleet, then a brief clearing
just in time for one riotous sunset.
Overnight the wind did its best
to blow the house down; the sudden onset
of a wintery squall was the final test,
splatting windows with wet snow that obscured
the bay, then froze on power lines, knocking
out traffic lights along the Boulevard –
but it was our boiler’s failure that finally sent us packing
back to the city, the car’s heat cranked full blast,
wipers going like the dickens, the boys
asleep in the back seat, and you driving fast
as if we could somehow outrun this winter malaise.
Brooke Wiese
Brooke Wiese’s work has appeared most recently in Snakeskin, Persimmon Tree, The Orchards, The Road Not Taken, Voices and Visions Journal, New Lyre, and Spoon River Poetry Review. Her second chapbook, Memento Mori, is available from Finishing Line Press, and a third, Allen Ginsberg is a Mensch, is now out from Bottlecap Press. After a very long hiatus, she has been writing furiously again. Brooke lives with her wife and sons in New York City and currently teaches at a special education inclusion school in Manhattan to high school students of all abilities. www.mbrookewiese.net
