The Cafe Review

by Molly M. Caldwell Spence Hot Spring Jemez River, NM TripAdvisor said be careful not to swallow Janis Joplin’s pubic hairs, and mind the

by Molly M. Caldwell You sleep most of the way like you do most of the time. From Ellsworth to Machias I drink cold coffee from a handmade mug

by Molly M. Caldwell The skin on my father’s calves hangs like a translucent bag full of tiny purple lightning bolts — little blue streams,

by Eric Forsbergh Cook! Boil us a pot. Fresh. Or yesterday’s. We don’t care as long as there’s no skin of mold. Better take it bitter. Black.

by Ceridwen Hall There’s an island in the middle of a lake. During summer, boats go back and forth. People bring dogs and bicycles. They circle

by Ceridwen Hall Travelogue Edmonton When I cannot see the earth or hear beyond the roar of the engine, nothing seems real but my cramped

by Ronald J. Pelias My sister said on the witness stand her child was just under bad influences; she didn’t think irreparable damage had been

by Michael Biehl Every time the world ends, he breaks out in loneliness, like chickenpox. Then the world–wheel, creaking, turns again, not

by Michael Biehl Death watches from an upstairs window the little scene transpiring below: six semi–dangerous eighth graders, jostling a

by Michael Biehl God bless cookie–cutter houses, cookie–cutter poems, cookie–cutter people. Pigeons! Pizzas! Penelope gazes

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