Sometimes When My Wife Comes Home She Doesn't Kiss Me

Ron Riekki

She writes me notes in visible ink.
Not invisible ink.
That’s when we were kids.
We want to have kids.
So far we can’t.
We keep trying
and it’s like the sex
is serious.
Sad.
Everything changes.
Even nothing.




Nonfiction
Poetry

The Ciudad Juarez Side of Sunrise
Yvette A. Schnoeker-Shorb


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Yvette A. Schnoeker-Shorb


OUTRAGE CONTEST: To the Fourth Estate
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OUTRAGE CONTEST: For My Sister
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OUTRAGE CONTEST: My Mother Finally Tells Him Off
Sandra Inskeep-Fox


OUTRAGE CONTEST: Roe v. Wade
Alexis Beckford


OUTRAGE CONTEST: African American
Alexis Beckford


OUTRAGE CONTEST: Rebel Rebel
Sam Cross


OUTRAGE CONTEST: If I Am Guilty of Anything
Sam Cross


In The Dark
Alison Stone Eric Greinke


Petals and Roots
Alison Stone Eric Greinke


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Paige Leland


When Poems Sound Better in Times New Roman
Paige Leland


A Metaphor for how Trash Day Reminds Me that I’ll Never Be Alone No Matter How Hard I Try
Paige Leland


Lynch at Hyde
Alex Wilson


The Search
Tim Kercher


Gentrification Download
Alex Wilson


There, we are wordless, there
Rachel Janis


Hand to hand
Rachel Janis


If a Tree Were to Fall
Rachel Janis


Clockwork
Lisha Ruan


Flight
Isabel Brome Gaddis


Solstice
Mallory Bass


Prisoner of War
Tracy Mishkin


POST-APOCALYPTIC YOGA, ALL LEVELS
Janna Layton


When I Was an EMT, We Never Got in Any Trouble if a Patient Died, But if You Scratched the Side of the Ambulance They Would Fire You
Ron Riekki


Sometimes When My Wife Comes Home She Doesn't Kiss Me
Ron Riekki

Firecracker
Andrea Janov


This Poem is about a Small Town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and a College I Hated in Massachusetts
Ron Riekki


Near-Life Experience
Robert Beveridge


Leather and Velvet
Robert Beveridge


Fiction