by Ann LaBar When I arrive, my father will ask, “They pay you for that?” And I will answer no.  Payment For poetry is rarely legal tender. It is broken barrettes, non-pareils […]

Over It

by Alexis Rhone Fancher Now the splinter-sized dagger that jabs at my heart has lodged itself in my aorta, I can’t worry it anymore. I liked the pain, the dig of remembering, […]