The Lost Brigade
Friendships
by Natasha Sajé Like dead moths, some dissolve to grey on my palms. New ones jump like crickets — I don’t know where they’ll land, and fear where
Epithalamium with Acrobats
by Melissa Crowe Love, let us be clowns to one another our mouths drawn down, yes, but every frown and tear merely grease paint. Let’s see how