The Cafe Review

by Mimi White when I saw the boat tipped on its side a ghost entered our story it did not matter that the tide would right it Tanka

by Rachel F. Seidman We know nothing about currents of wind or water. We have only hope and intuition. And a slightly risky faith that our

by Adam Scheffler You are dead, Lewis Carroll, the young man said And yet your hands are so strong You are juggling two chairs, a saw, and your

by Adam Scheffler A man cobbles together his life together as best he can, skimming these shark–abandoned waves but must so many pastimes

by Adam Scheffler I have lots of hearts, it’s grisly. I leave them bloody, soaking the pillow. I keep them in a drawer where they turn gray. It’s

by Tom Saya How is it all those worlds out there don’t collide, obliterating each other? or given the great distances, how is it without

by Kevin Rabas That night, I snuck into the practice room, the drums crumpled up. I had sticks. I played the low tom first, called on my heart

by Kevin Rabas When the loan officer shakes my hand, his hand is a big mitt, ham shank, boxer’s big thick grip, and, though he’s kindly, he’s

by Greg McBride A toddler sprawls across his mother’s slim and lovely lap, his hair a reddish gold, his face a whim of freckles. His hands softly

by Greg McBride It was a moving day, the barn–raising commune of that time. Afterward, we all milled about her new apartment, mugs and

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