Autumn Humphrey

Some are More Equal than Others

Strands of blonde hair stuck against Adele’s wet cheeks, mixed with rivulets of running mascara. A cigarette burned between two fingers and her lips were never far from her rum and coke as she sat on the patio of the bar with Elizabeth.

“It never would have worked, I know that,” Adele sniffled, “He was just too different.”

“People work through their differences when they are in love.”

Adele grabbed her friend’s arm and looked directly into her eyes. “No. I mean different. Like physically.” She nodded for emphasis, then leaned in and whispered into her friend’s ear.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Oh, my. You never told me that about him.”

“Well, it’s not something you talk about.” Adele looked away and shivered at a memory before inhaling the last of her drink. “I could never spend my life with someone who was so … odd. I know it’s shallow. I know it’s wrong. But I am who I am.”

Adele got up to leave, then looked back and slurred, “I’ll be alright,” before stumbling down the street, her long blonde monkey tail swishing around of its own accord from the bottom of her skirt.

Joanna M. Weston

Under Painted Skies (Haibun)

Faces and limbs of plump angels frolic across the
ceiling of St. Peter’s. I stand, head-back, then
sit down, overwhelmed by brilliant blues and reds,
the height of pillars and statues. A group of
tourists stand to one side, listening to their
tour-guide. They focus cameras and click north,
south, east, and west. I, and the white-haired man
asleep on the chair in front of me, will be shown
on film in China.

his slow breathing
in rhythm
with my own

Prasenjit Maiti


You must be laughing when you read this If at all you read this when it is finally a dismal winter in Kolkata If at all I collect my ruins to call you And ask you to visit me To walk with me to the distant nowhere of my passions You must be laughing when I talk to you Or even hold your hands Or touch the tired sweat of our evening together across your moist lips You must be laughing when I kneel before you When I tear my heart out You must be laughing when I stir sugar in your coffee I add cream I lift your cup When I say I could never write without you

Margaret Walther

Your Mission, Maggie, Should You Accept It, Is the Thirteenth Letter of the Alphabet

an omen or a thousand omen

crumbs in the woods no one remembers, the hum in a dream

magpies, mariachi band in drag, rattle pine tree gloom

the widow commits a minnow of mourning crime

diamonds are a girl’s best mend

the muse, a maniac with rhyme and a metronome

Micky and Minnie eating M&M’s

a megalith, a monolith, a menhir, the little lullaby at the end of home

a man with one says I must put in a mustache

rum, each drop, melodious morphine to a skid row bum

trombone, trumpet, tam-tam, a vibration smash

mountain peaks, turned upside down, you’re reflected in lake’s womb

the thirteenth line, mission accomplished, om

Brandon S. Roy


I opened the door
Of a house with no windows,

I saw everyone walking by had
A tiny rain cloud above them

It was scary to see
That I was lacking a cloud,

As I looked closer,
I could see that I was all wet.