A Kelpie Sees Mari Lwyd from Afar

By Maria Schrater in Issue Twelve, December 2023

‘Twas the night before Christmas and I froze in my pond
When I heard a wassailing from the town close anon
A dozen stout peasants with drink all aglow
Were knocking on doors in the gentle-fall snow

What You Find at the Center

By Elizabeth R McClellan in Issue Twelve, December 2023

six feet down and you sat
in the garden filling your notebooks
with scrawled labyrinths; circus tents
overlapping the paths and midways.

Pillow Talk in the Tempest

By Gretchen Tessmer in Issue Eleven, October 2023

oh yes, I've seen the way you look at me
through sea-glass dark as pits of mud-torn mire
your heat-struck, jagged ditches lay desire
too plainly, how you want to hear me scream


By Rebecca A. Demarest in Issue Eleven, October 2023

The plasticsmith waits for the children to return
with buckets full of scraps, bags, bottles, and toys
meticulously scrapped and washed and clean.
The buckets are weighed, then into the crucible they go,
rendered down to grayish brown ingots, made ready
for shipment from the Patch to the factories in the City.

Queen of the Underworld

By Connie La-Huynh in Issue Eleven, October 2023

When I float along the deep abyss, every rotting worm writhes
to be near me, every putrid parasite begs
for me to eat him whole. The School of Worship
comes out from hiding, longing for salvation
in my generous arms, and in the Midnight Mass,
the angler’s lure is dimmed by my dazzling spring.

And the Sea Brags of its Shells

By • R L • powell in Issue Eleven, October 2023

When I wake, it’s to hear the last siren,
receding to its distant causeway, banks of
salt, their bygone shackles of sand.

I hear, dig out what calls to you down
to an aragonite shore—stay gentle, as
you clean away the remains of so many

The Field

By Sandra Pope in Issue Eleven, October 2023

Beyond the boundaries of my yard,
water flows through furrows in a field,
harvested and fallow now, where corn waved
and last year's winter wheat greened the ground
through all the cold brown barren time.

I, Luminescence

By Avra Margariti in Issue Ten, August 2023

α) Radiation (This Place is a Message)

What am I but an emanation
Of energy better left
Undisturbed, a ruined
Palace calling out to you
In forbidden whispers
Of far-future runes?

Paradox Lost

By S.T. Eleu in Issue Ten, August 2023

A dismal universal hiss, the sound
Of public scorn; he wonder’d…

bio Grandfather with a shotgun
caught me in the loft of the barn
two clicks removed from levitical codes


By Sodïq Oyèkànmí in Issue Ten, August 2023

for Yemọja

my mother keeps track of time by how much rain falls
heavenwards. i know it is night because there’s a torrent
& the grim reaper blades through the whirl. it is night.