Erika Michael


 Flying into light they want the shades down while

I need sun — seeing is breathing and who knows what

magic unscrolls inside that cloud proscenium. Years 


ago I caught the shadow of a stork out there soaring

so fast I might have missed him had it not been for the

gransdon I found snuggled in his feathers on arrival.

Read More

Jed Myers

Night Itch 

I scratch, in the black, the inner    

aspect of my right thigh. Other                      

nights chest, back of hand, a shin, 


blame the itch on chafed or dry 

or sweat-salted skin, wrong 

detergent, ghosts of mites, tactile 

Read More