Shevaun Brannigan

Shevaun Brannigan - Committed

Shevaun Brannigan is a graduate of the Bennington Writing Seminars, as well as The Jiménez-Porter Writers’ House at The University… Read more »
Jeff Whitney

Jeff Whitney - Meteors

Jeff Whitney is the author of five chapbooks, two of which were co-written with Philip Schaefer. His poems can be… Read more »
Andrew Collard
Portrait With Elegy And Iodine

Andrew Collard - Portrait With Elegy And Iodine

Andrew Collard lives in Kalamazoo, MI, where he attends grad school and teaches. His recent poems are forthcoming in Mid-American… Read more »
Audrey Gradzewicz
Song of Marshall Applewhite

Audrey Gradzewicz - Song of Marshall Applewhite

Audrey Gradzewicz was born in Buffalo, New York. Her poems have been published by, or are forthcoming from, Southern Indiana… Read more »
Rebecca Bornstein
Summer Vacation

Rebecca Bornstein - Summer Vacation

Rebecca Bornstein is a poet and worker currently living in Portland, Oregon. She’s held jobs as a production cook, professional… Read more »
Devon Miller-Duggan

Devon Miller-Duggan - Tales

Devon Miller-Duggan has published poems in Rattle, Shenandoah, Margie, Christianity and Literature, and Gargoyle. She teaches Creative Writing at the… Read more »
Gail Martin
Their Shapes Determined By How Cold The Air

Gail Martin - Their Shapes Determined By How Cold The Air

Gail Martin is the author of two books, Begin Empty-Handed (Perugia Press) and The Hourglass Heart (New Issues). A Michigan… Read more »


Jeff Whitney

He had to keep quiet because his father worked nights
so by six he was in his room drawing cracks in the world
that opened onto other worlds, convinced he might someday
open like that, too, step like some alien out of old skin, and some town
would be waiting for him, his one-man parade, and his mother
wouldn’t stay up with her head in the chimney
taking secret puffs, face lit each time she inhaled
making a small period of light in the blackness
around her, saying nothing in that smoke.
This was that town. Its perpetually dead
and drunken children. Its way of staying exactly
the same. And maybe he was onto something,
when the lights went out and he’d stare
at plastic ceiling stars spewing recycled light
in the middle of that nested silence,
with his mother ostriched in the fire
place, his father attending to the sick and dying
world. He never had a sister or a brother
but there was a pair of desert tortoises named Eli
and Eli he flushed thinking they would make it
home, or to Egypt, and… Read more »