Artwork by Charles Borges Accardi
Shower Venice Beach I
Charles Borges Accardi


Charles Borges Accardi | bio

Dead Bulb by Charles Borges Accardi  Out the Window by Charles Borges Accardi
Peephole by Charles Borges Accardi  Yellow Dish by Charles Borges Accardi



Scott Gould | bio

Boy on Fire: Williamsburg County, 1971

I set fires for my dad when I was twelve. Back then,
he was a forester for the state, and one of his jobs
was to start and supervise controlled, prescribed
burnings for big landowners—small, low-roaming
fires that burned off the underbrush from a spring
and summer of growth and needle-fall
... [more]



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Anne Haines | bio

A Field Guide, A Map

On my TV, kept on
for company,
a bowerbird
makes a nest of shells, bones, pebbles

Snow at Midnight

The way snow piles up on branches,
perfectly aligned and silent,
makes my heart break
in this hushed white midnight world
... [more]

Sarah Layden | bio

In the Trunk

My old high school rent-a-cop
now directs traffic with yellow gloves,
almost two decades after
I took my last exam and cried
my way to college
... [more]

Something in the Way

We never find out how she moves,
just that something attracted the singer
like no other. Maybe a jaunty stride
down the sidewalk. A series of gestures
... [more]

The Tax Clown

The funeral procession
is the final vestige of civility
on the American road, and still
I honked
... [more]


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Volume 4.1 | April 2009

Editors’ Notes

Crisis and Resolution

Everyone is feeling the pinch. Economic crises affect much more than monetary flows: they affect how we perceive and dream. They affect how we philosophize and write ... [more]


Bridget Bell | bio


Everyone is a liberal when they are young.
-- My mother

This said around the same time I asked Eric to shave my head.
We decided to leave nothing but a patch,

an inch long sprout dyed bright red like a rose
pushing out from my brain
... [more]


Jon Boisvert | bio


If you shave a doll’s head,
the pattern left behind
looks like
cut corn fields in winter ...


You are feral in ways:
the thermostat at fifty-eight,
you live exclusively
in the warm spot, the attic ...


Leah Browning | bio

Spring, and the Clocks Go Back

Spring, and the clocks go back;
this is where we lose the hour in the drugstore
with the home pregnancy test ...


Sean Patrick Hill | bio

Love Terns

There is no love like theirs.
They couple, I’m told,
for life ...


Jalina Mhyana | bio

The Lepidopterist

I cracked the arthritic spine
and examined it,
my fingers clumsy coroners
knuckle-deep in the book’s crumbling midsection ...


Adam Pellegrini | bio

Love Poem

Our love is like the wide
storm of trash
quivering off California’s coast—

My Suite, My Lovely

      and the pachyderms
just above our apartment

are drunk and trying to dance.
      They step like cannonfire
warning us from dreams ..
. [more]


Richard Schiffman | bio

Hawks and Crows

The sky, I’ve noticed, does not stop
to chart the flight of crows,
nor crows recall their flight
through air ...






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