Here are some excerpts from the issue to whet your appetites:
You want to talk about it, I heard you ask as your clammy fingers withdrew like octopus’s arms and I strove in vain to rise to the blank ceiling surface.
- "IT" | Poetry by Mario Susko
Alice walks the half mile down Donaldson to show Cindy her new breasts. No sidewalks, the roads paved back when they were used primarily by farmers with their horse trailers and tractors, but it’s a quiet neighborhood with breathing space between the homes.
Though close enough to be taxed like the city, they were what most people in Memphis consider “the country”: a hodgepodge neighborhood of trailers, modular homes, new construction, and farmhouses that grew a bit at a time, like the creek that runs alongside it, wearing away at its banks in a slow expansion.
Cindy lives in the two story brick house that signals the end of the “neighborhood” and the beginning of long stretches of cotton fields and grazing land. She likes to say that hippies grew marijuana in the back fields in the ‘60s. Cindy’s husband keeps it mown, short, so their girls can practice softball on weeknights.
- "Cat Door" | Fiction by Renee Emerson