HORSES — Kate Millar

He and She drank green tea in a Hanoi alley where a woman had just slaughtered three chickens. As the woman held the limp necks and plucked feathers from the carcasses, He and… Continue reading

Undeferred — Ted Chiles

We were in the common room of Russell Hall, a freshman men’s dormitory at our small Presbyterian College in Western Pennsylvania waiting for our draft number to be drawn. The room was dark… Continue reading

Tripping in Vietnam — Susan Fealy

(i) Saigon In Saigon, water is omnipresent; it saturates the air, travelling down Saigon River feels more like entering the sea. It smells of rain. After rain, lacquered altars on the footpaths seem… Continue reading

Artwork — S. Todd Wall

  *** S. Todd Wall is an artist/educator that has spent the last 15 years working and making art throughout Asia while returning to his home/studio periodically in rural, upstate South Carolina, USA.… Continue reading

2 poems — Richard Olson

A Place Called Hope My grandmother wrote me in a letter once when I was in Viet- nam, out in the Plain of Reeds how she’d been looking for a map of Viet-… Continue reading

Oarswoman — Rick Silva

Firm in the mud, astride the timestream slip between darkness of Delta night-quiet and the brick kiln flare of full day, the dredging rigs have a line of barges waiting, and she is… Continue reading

Freedom is shriveling and consciousness has been assassinated by Phạm Vũ Văn Khoa , trans. Kaitlin Rees

“Freedom is shriveling and consciousness has been assassinated” first appeared in bilingual magazine AJAR issue 2, which is published in Hanoi. A few changes have been made from the original publication. Tự do… Continue reading

Ridden — Jason Marc Harris

“Memory is another name for ghosts and their awful hunger.” — from “Apple” by Eugene Gloria   It was Hmong New Year. Phang was thirteen-years-old, and Grandfather Zaj told his stories to the… Continue reading

FEATURED ARTIST — SUSAN DAVID

ARTIST STATEMENT I often think about the fragility of the body and how it relates to memory, my own as well as in a broader context. I am interested in exploring memory and… Continue reading

PLOW — Wendell Mayo

After teaching my morning section of first-year composition, I give my tally to Professor Gertrude Montbatten: NINE students owning up to misused possessives, EIGHT run-ons consecutively colliding in zany train wrecks, and SEVEN… Continue reading

2 poems — Sandra Kohler

MINDFUL Tuesday. Gray Tuesday. The day of which one must be mindful is always Tuesday, a day of no particular meaning, its minimal taste offered, water to the tongue, like the drink you… Continue reading

2 poems — Jonathan Travelstead

ADDICTION TRACT Because children’s coloring books teach us to find What is Missing from one of two similar pictures, I consider what was never there: Tonguing the molar whose pith- porous as a… Continue reading

landscapes & nudes — Mark Loebach

  Click on Images to Enlarge. Mark Loebach spent years traveling through Europe and the United States gaining perspective and using art as therapy. The years of constant change are represented in his… Continue reading

THE YOUNG AND MAGICAL MAGICIAN — SUSAN WOODRING

That year for Christmas, their fifteen-year-old son asked for a magic kit. But neither parent thought this was a good idea. Brandon was too old for such a toy. The dad was embarrassed… Continue reading

DIALOGUE WITH GEORGIA O’KEEFFE IV: Feast For The Dead–Patricia Meek

Why do you weep for me? I am everywhere. 1. I whisper this epitaph through whistle bone on the impossible climb to God’s table laden with the gifts I’ve prepared deep within my… Continue reading

2 poems — Kevin Heaton

BRING ME MY SHEAVES Sunshowers spit-shined the shark’s tooth that gutted Kansas’ only diamondback. You were just a puff adder feigning rattles— scavenging rat droppings for field mice in bales of switchgrass. I… Continue reading

Pictures — Laura Kathleen Marsico

Click Image to Enlarge. *** Laura Kathleen Marsico is a fan of animals, music and plants. She is living in Pittsburgh, PA while attempting to solve a few of life’s mysteries.

AGAINST LETHE — RUTH FOLEY

And what of the disappeared? What of the moments rising from the bottom of the spring In fever, we found each other once, like drowning men scraping their fingers raw against the rocks… Continue reading