ALLAMERICAN

Margo Davis

Photographic projects, like life, have journeys of their very own. They grow organically, sometimes with purposeful direction, sometimes randomly. They have an arc of development which can be synchronous with the trajectory of one’s life. In my photographic work, my current project ALLAMERICAN has evolved from all the influences of my life’s journey from childhood until now.

Three Poems from We Play a Game

Duy Doan

Rat-tat-tat We heard Changes three times on the radio. First on the way to Salem. Again on the way to the grocery store on the way back from Salem. And then again on the way to pick up Becky and…

Select Poems from The Amoeba Game

Tara Skurtu

I stood at the stove holding a wooden spoon in my right hand, listening to butter sputtering against the splattered circle of an egg. Perhaps ...

4 Poems

Safia Elhillo

Ode to Swearing
back home this is the worst profanity
what men use when they need to curse . . .

The Ungrateful Son

Dinty W. Moore

Once a man was sitting with his wife. They had roasted a chicken which they were about to eat together. Then the man saw that his aged father was approaching, and he hastily took the chicken and hid it in a cupboard, for he did not want to share. ...

The Sword

Ben Loory

You got something in the mail today, the man’s wife says. It looks like it’s from your uncle. The man takes the package and holds it in his hands. He opens it. Inside is a sword. This sword was used…

Topography

Douglas W. Milliken

Sometimes—while hiking stretches of the Appalachian Trail, while driving cross-country, while forging new relationships—I imagine myself an explorer discovering inhabited lands. I imagine myself surrounded by plants I have never seen, mountains I have never climbed, rivers I have never…

The Tango Lesson

Tracy Picha

He is so deliciously close to me, I can smell the scent of his shampoo. Dark ends of his hair still clustered and damp. His skin is so invitingly smooth, it looks like he just shaved in a hot shower.…

My Debut

Robert Cataldo

When I was in my sixteenth year, a friend of my father’s, who worked for the state, came by my father’s store and had mentioned that the state psychiatric hospital in Waltham was looking for a piano player, a musician, to entertain their patients, one night a week, midweek. My father, of course, immediately thought of me. ...

Deaf Date

Paul Hostovsky

She was my sign language teacher. It wasn’t until the end of the semester that I’d finally learned enough signs to ask her out. And even then I wasn’t sure if I’d asked her out on a DATE or on…