New Words

If Grief Had a Color

I wouldn’t tell you it’s copper. I’d send you back up to the jukebox in our mojito summer..

In My Hometown, There’s No Station

By Renee Agatep ‘cause the trains don’t carry people. You can visit by scanning the footnotes of a discarded Auto Trader. The centerfold will introduce the townspeople, a chain of white paper dolls holding unremarkable hands. There are other ways. Chew the label off a can of chewing tobacco or look in the cracks of…

On to Stockton, 1930

“Did you see the news?” “No, doesn’t matter.” Irena shrugged. “Which is it? Did you see it, or it doesn’t matter?”

The Keepsake

What was to become of my mother’s things? I couldn’t ask myself those questions now, only pack, box, tape, stack.

The Original of Vera

Deep in the heart of Appalachia, Harvey completed Vera. He recognized his beloved’s precise countenance, her light, his own eye beyond the easel looking on from a doorway.


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