Kenji C. Liu
After Tofu Mantra II

Kenji C. Liu - After Tofu Mantra II

Kenji C. Liu ( is a 1.5-generation immigrant from New Jersey. A Pushcart Prize nominee and first runner-up finalist for… Read more »
Matthew Lippman
American Typewriter

Matthew Lippman - American Typewriter

Matthew Lippman is the author of three poetry collections, American Chew (Burnisde Review Press, 2013), which won the Burnside Review… Read more »
Sarah Brown Weitzman

Sarah Brown Weitzman - Ecosphere

Sarah Brown Weitzman, a Pushcart nominee in 2012, has had work in numerous journals and anthologies including the North American… Read more »
Anne Barngrover

Anne Barngrover - Flashback

Anne Barngrover’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in such journals as Indiana Review, Meridian, Ninth Letter, and Witness, among… Read more »
Zackary Sholem Berger
Green Aquarium

Zackary Sholem Berger - Green Aquarium

Zackary Sholem Berger ( is a writer and translator in Baltimore who writes poetry and prose in English and Yiddish.… Read more »
Lesley Jenike
Had I Been Any God of Power

Lesley Jenike - Had I Been Any God of Power

Lesley Jenike is Associate Professor of English and Head of the English and Philosophy Department at the Columbus College of… Read more »
Skaidrite Stelzer
Remembering Roundness

Skaidrite Stelzer - Remembering Roundness

Skaidrite Stelzer is a poet and teacher living in Toledo Ohio. A post-WWII refugee, she grew up in Michigan as… Read more »
Rachel Linnea Brown
To Ply

Rachel Linnea Brown - To Ply

Rachel Linnea Brown is currently pursuing her MFA in poetry at Colorado State University. She earned her BA in English… Read more »
Elizabeth Spires
When They Go

Elizabeth Spires - When They Go

Elizabeth Spires is the author of six collections of poetry, including Worldling, Nor the Green Blade Rises and The Wave-Maker… Read more »


Anne Barngrover

I used to fiddle with the cigarette burns
in the quilt my dead grandma made for me.
Open mouths lipsticked with rust—
button ghosts

that showed me worlds lit by green water
whenever I peered through: where the dead
fish and drink beer. I’d whisper to her,
What’s crackin’?

and she’d hoot back, Girl, my fingers plug
gills all damn day and I suck down fried catfish
all night long.
I’m glad she’s happy now:
child bride

at fifteen, her boys raised wild like bad stars.
Her skin yellowed a little more each winter.
I found a cicada with her blue eyes
the day she died. Read more »