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As Novelas – By James Brodows

The novela Celebridade leaps from the Brazilian televisions and streets. At last week’s Flamengo soccer match the fans shook homemade signs: Quem matou Lineu? (Who killed Lineu?) The question on everybody’s mind after the soap opera murder. And this week with the revelatory episode looming: Eu matei Lineu (I killed Lineu) Eu sei quem matou…

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Knuckles – By Jessica McDermott

A friend once told me the only part of the human body that doesn’t turn to ash after cremation are knuckle bones – like little Jacks, small concaving squares with the durability to withstand temperatures reaching above 1,5000 degrees Fahrenheit. My dad’s knuckles are fat. From growing up on a farm and playing basketball for…

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Baby – By S.W. Campbell

We were all sitting at the dinner table the first time Baby brought up that she wanted to get the gastric bypass surgery. Momma was dead set against it from the beginning. I can still hear Momma’s high pitch voice squealing across the room, her hands frantically smoothing the table cloth. “Oh god no Baby. You…

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January, Lake Champlain – By Holly Painter

Frozen mounds reared up beside the only vents in the ice, where water sighed through between drifting slabs covered in tiny cracks like a war of spiders. We sat to loosen our snowshoes and charging onto the ice, my wife hollered, Who’s dancing on Lake Champlain? We’re dancing on Lake Champlain! 17 degrees, the warmest…

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Utopia – By Nashae Jones

She chewed the bone down to the bristle. “Slow down.” She heard the remark, but kept grinding her teeth down on one of the empty bones. “Antoinette,” her mother hissed. She couldn’t stop. Her fingers slipped through the remaining meat, gliding through, tearing mercilessly. Her mother pulled back her arm. “Slow down girl. You’ll choke…

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Rain – By Zebulon Huset

The rain was falling so hard that if it didn’t hit you on the way down, it bounced high enough to hit you from the ground. These were the kind of afternoons Sara liked best. When all the stores closed and everyone hid inside their houses, or, when the tornado sirens go off, as they…

Teressa Ezell
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In Praise of Mud by Teressa Rose Ezell

And what of this wind-whipped, soggy, savory day with its cloak of grey and its stinging drops, brown grass and bare branches, stark naked but still in glorious, dancing majesty? There is no train of hopeful, athletic feet running through the park now; just my husband, myself, and our wolfish dog, trudging. My husband’s loafers,…

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Selfie of March as Infatuation by Lori Lamothe

Selfie of March as Infatuation Change, as always, arrives late to the party. The pines in the yard stand ringed around stasis, the tips of their branches dripping dirty rain onto snow’s faded carpet. Even the sky stands off in a corner ignoring the small talk of crows, its gray coat draped over its shoulders….

Jennifer Martelli
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The Tao of Virgil Sollozzo by Jennifer Martelli

The Tao of Virgil Sollozzo   Look at my veiny hands. Look at the bare trees’ branches— we’re holding up the winter sky, giving it back its darkness. A pack of menthol cigarettes, a half empty bic lighter; cleaned out clam shell found on the beach by the stone calendar. In the movie, the doomed…

Jake Tringali
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Hands of Chance by Jake Tringali

Hands of Chance form shadow puppets, shallow spirits hidden souls born skip across the evening piano, speeding allegro fleeting little song pour firewater liquors, for the tipplers morning’s remorse scar canvas with dark crayon, art seance exquisite corpse flick the card deck, bar bet conjure lost kings light his cigarette, fingers pirouette now his heart…

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