Poetry – Issue 33Betrayal Cherene Sherrard How wrong I was about what makes family. One spring, we flew south—below us, middle earth iced pale as sheet cake, a tasteless, shrinking patchwork of red barns & gray silos squared by fallow fields—to a bone-dry atoll on the equator. Nothing grew.Please log in or subscribe to continue reading. Explore Related Work: Poetry – Issue 31Year Without a Summer Quinn Lewis No lilac, no thimbleberry, no blackcaps. / No hummingbirds. No autumn olive. Poetry – Issue 24•Doppelgangbanger Cortney Lamar Charleston Fox Valley Mall, technically in Aurora, attracts slightly / rougher edges—ya mans right here, stoners, guapo boys / and black. Poetry – Issue 6Back Where You Came From Camille T. Dungy If you want to go back, take your first turn at the stop sign, / left. Continue on.
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