by Dmitry Samarov In 2021 I wrote about a bookstore coming to Bridgeport; in 2024, I personally move a majority of its 60,000 titles next door to a new location. It’s been a voyage of discovery, as ad-copy might put it. Artwork by Dmitry Samarov.  I stop by the window and watch the…

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Harboring I remember it was a Sunday when I discovered I was pregnant because Franz went off to church and I stayed home. Franz was never gone. All except for Sundays of course. He’d set off in the mornings, then extend his leave into the late afternoon when he’d luncheon with the other…

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The Herring Net - Winslow Homer my spine ached parallel to the sea surface, clashing to the sides of the sailwood, Welch’s fingers in between the fish-filled net, in exhaustion as dusk rose my hands slippery hanging off the rim tilting the boat slightly left, With rain tingling on my hat, the…

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Inviolable I brought out a silver platter loaded with poached eggs, toast, glistening cherries, and sugar-coated pastries—much more than she was ever able to eat. Still, I made it for her, as always, with precision and care. We were alone here, the two of us, except for the endless cycle of…

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This writer has chosen not to post their poem.

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On Innocence and Black Youth The door burst open, rattling as it slammed against the side of the brick house. The house’s owner stepped into the center of the doorway. His wife-beater was soaked with sweat stains, and his sunburnt shoulders stuck out from underneath it. The overwhelming smell…

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This writer has chosen not to post their poem.

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Dogeye Cut tally: five. I push the tip of the pocket knife into the trampoline of my skin and pull it down, sharp and short. A thin stream of blood trickles down my arm, dying its hairs red. It bulges into a drop. The drop lets go, falls, plink! Caught by a bowl of water, its fragile structure split…

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Nantucket Smothered in January, all of the boats are leaving; by and large, they have better places to be. The whalers and fishermen are deserting the harbor, leaving their rods and harpoons up on the wharf as they voyage through the cold saltwater smog. The boathouses are empty, reeking with…

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