I wept when the doctor gave me a name for what was causing / the bloated pink growths to bloom unchecked across / the field of my organs...
Read MoreThree Photographs by Tetman Callis
Northeast El Paso, 2004 No. 2
Brick building with red poles, red storefront signage, and white corrugated steel roof. Signage includes “Pour house” in white text with a white martini glass in between the words. A United States flag is painted on the left and right of “Pour house.” On the far right of the red storefront, there’s a yellow sign with a red and black superhero, red text stating “Comics, cards, collectibles,” and blue text with a phone number: 775-6877. Below the comics sign is a door and two windows covered by various comics.
Northeast El Paso, 2004 No. 10
Brick building and white storefront signage with black border. Inside the border is “$5.00 Haircuts” in red text and “The Pros” in black text.
Northeast El Paso, 2004 No. 14
Red and white storefront numbered “5254.” On the left of the door is a white sign with “Now open. Walk in or drive thru!” in red text. On the right of the door is a white sign with “One stop liquor” in navy blue text. On the sign, there’s also a red octagon around the word “stop,” resembling a stop sign. Below this sign is a drink advertisement with the text “Great taste” in white and a yellow price tag with “$1.85” in black text.
Tetman Callis is a writer and artist who lives in Chicago. His stories and photographs have been widely published, and his photographs and other artworks have shown in galleries in New Mexico and New York City. He is the author of the memoir, High Street: Lawyers, Guns & Money in a Stoner’s New Mexico (Outpost 19, 2012), and the children’s book, Franny & Toby (Silky Oak Press, 2015). He can be found online at https://tetmancallis.substack.com.
Monochrome America by Joe Bonomo
I’m already apprehensive about driving over a body of water when Vega grabs my elbow and whispers to me that we’re riding around in a killer's car, it’s nineteen hundred seventy seven, whole country is doing a fix, it’s doomsday, doomsday. The bridge is sturdy beneath my wheels, yet I wasn’t prepared to be behind the wheel of a runaway car…
Read MoreAnacostia by Linette Marie Allen
K is for Ka, face to face, / like a night guarding a pen. / That’s what we do.
Read MorePainting of a beach horizon including a white seagull on the left and a tree on the right. A real woman with a small smile and braided hair stands directly in front of the painting on the right, blocking most of the painted tree
Horizon Lines by Paul Rabinowitz
Paul Rabinowitz’s photography, prose and poetry appear in magazines and journals including The Sun Magazine, New World Writing, Arcturus-Chicago Review Of Books, Evening Street Press, The Montreal Review, Stone Poetry Quarterly, Talking River Review, and elsewhere. Rabinowitz was a featured artist in Nailed Magazine in 2020, Mud Season Review in 2022, Apricity Press in 2023, Rappahannock Review in 2024 and The Woven Tale Press in 2025. His photo series Limited Light was nominated for Best of the Net in 2021. Rabinowitz’s poems and fiction are the inspiration for 8 award winning experimental films, including Best Experimental Short at Cannes, Venice Independent Film Festival, Oregon Short Film Festival, Jersey Shore Film Festival, Florence Indie Film Festival and Paris Film Festival. He shoots with a Nikon D7000 and uses only natural light. You can find him online at www.paulrabinowitz.com.
Naked Utopia(s) by Claire W. Zhang
Without clothes and names we would all be equals.
Read MoreAmong the Healthcare Professionals by John Picard
I am shocked by the news, though not surprised. So many people close to me have had cancer—my sister (breast) and my oldest friend (also prostate), my father (bladder). But it is a blow.
Read MoreBiohazard by Melissa Benton Barker
Knick doesn’t leave as much of a mess as some of them. It looks like he must have fallen asleep first, or maybe it’s just that he didn’t put up a fight. Deloris says not all of them do.
Read MoreAMONG MULTITUDES by Nance Van Winckel
How do? Their one mouth of how many / voices? My us peeks out to meet a dear / young them.
Read MoreThree Photographs by Hayley Veilleux
Words that stay
remember when
anguish of the marrow
Hayley Veilleux is a writer & photographer living on unceded Kansa, Osage, and Otoe homelands (Kansas City, MO). Her work has been exhibited and published in The Pitch, Black Warrior Review, Kansas City Magazine, Gallery 1516, and elsewhere. She is a former Writers for Readers Fellow and co-founded the indie literary & art magazine, Dead Peasant, during the lost summer of 2020. You can find her on Instagram at @Hd_be, where she frequently monologues about the zeitgeist.
Two Poems by Evelyn Berry
before i was named / woman i was not / close to a real man
Read MoreGraffiti Reflection by Kelly DuMar
Kelly DuMar is a poet, playwright and workshop facilitator who lives on the rural Charles River in the Boston area. She’s author of four poetry collections, and her images are featured on the cover of literary journals. Kelly has been teaching creative writing for four decades, including the International Women’s Writing Guild and the Transformative Language Arts Network. She produces the Open Mic for the Journal of Expressive Writing. She’s also a certified psychodramatist who leads expressive arts support groups for psychologists in war zones.
Chittagong Chickrassy by Anisha Bhaduri
In the orbs of collaborative self-sufficiency that Hussein Shaheb, his mother and his wife lived in, in the permissiveness that went with accepting boundaries without distasteful confrontation and in the denial that the fatherless, adult man found himself in, he chose the entrenched tragedy of the past.
Read MoreThe Position of the Sun by Neal Lulofs
I can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if my father hadn’t been driving through that intersection at that moment. Would I have stayed in college? Would I have been a better person? What if I had done something the night my sister woke me when we were kids?
Read MoreTwo Poems by Sean Cho A.
I once believed distance meant a lack of sound, / but lately silence screams like a falling leaf. / The morning emails offer no relief, / just time zones measured in lost and found.
Read MoreThe middle of that night by Annie McGreevy
I figure I’m making it all up. I’ve been a wreck since he died—my appetite is erratic, my gait agitated, my posture defeated. So, sure—my psyche is probably conjuring him. But I welcome the visions because they soothe me.
Read MoreTwo Poems by Carrie Shipers
Of the siblings / I can reach, one says we were lucky / to survive, and one gets stuck / repeating we were loved.
Read MoreJames Garfield Junior High School, Westchester, New York by Michele Zimmerman
At school dances that are themed like blizzards and vampires and under-the-sea creatures, kids will hear phantom noises in bathroom stalls and other kids will scare their friends with screams. It will become generational knowledge that Johnny H. never left the bathroom stall in the hallway next to the small gym.
Read MoreWhen Fireflies Scatter by Rebecca Evans
This is the first time I shoot a gun, but not the first time I’ve held one. I wish I could tell you specifics. I can tell you what I remember.
Read MoreWhere Beauty Goes by Joe Bonomo
Because something is gone, that doesn’t mean that it goes away. We often clutch at stories, real or those we imagine, that can help give our lives meaning against randomness and disorder.
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