by S. J. Lauro I. The day after River Phoenix died—or was it, the day after they had heard that River Phoenix had died, which might have been weeks later, in this world before the internet, where few people had Sky News on satellite and the ex-pats waited weeks for a stale copy of Newsweek… [Read More]
Witness Magazine
Near Miss
by Marguerite Alley The rabbits were not pets, Dad said. But they had names: Flopsy and Mopsy and Benjamin and Peter. We had Flopsy and Peter for Thanksgiving, that first lean year after we came down the mountain and settled in Lynchburg. Dad pulled them out one at a time while I loitered around their… [Read More]
Child Catchers
by Josh McColough Whenever I return home to visit my parents, they present me with a box of artifacts to sift through. They are purging my childhood home in anticipation of their deaths, which are not particularly imminent. It is just the somewhat grim, pragmatic work of anti-nesting that comes with old age and a… [Read More]
My Mother, The Ghost-Doll
by Kiana Govoni It’s the ghosts in her voice, not the vivacity of her steps, that propel me to study my mother from my half-opened door. But even if my door were open to the universe my mother still wouldn’t see me. The strength of her eyes is locked onto nothingness. For right now she’s… [Read More]
Plastic Water Bottle: Origin Story
by Ethan Gilsdorf This morning, flattened like roadkill in front of my house, post-trash and recycling pickup day, its plastic sleeve displaying the logo and “best by” and “bottled on” date long since stripped and taken by the wind, the 8 a.m. sunshine catching one of its crumpled diamond facets refracting the light back to… [Read More]
Boots in the Closet
by Ciara Alfaro Before he dies, my great-grandfather gives my dad a pair of alligator boots. It happens before I am born. The boots are rattlesnake tan, thick-heeled, and calf-height, the way a puppy is. Every now and then, they whine at night. Stitched on the boots’ sides are six turquoise letters, spelling out our… [Read More]
The Preservationist
by Dean Marshall Tuck When Sanderson begins plinking out those anemic noteson his ukulele, it is best if your expectations are lowered.Doing a kind of banjo claw hammer roll, he’ll sound looselylike a kid who doesn’t know how to crank a jack-in-the-box,but after a few neat whiskeys and he’s loosened up a bit,strummy 1920s Tin… [Read More]
Imposition
by Lauren Tess The shadow of the roof ridge opposite’sa wan fin on asphalt shingles. Watery sun spills over the southern mountainsand gutters down the streets of the valley. The little snow that fell almost fastas rain melts. The clouds that shoal and loiter, unwilling to disperse, lured bythe smell of silty coffee, and the… [Read More]
On the Lido Deck Before Sunrise
by Lana Spendl Last night’s steak and fries sit lodged in his gullet, and he has to waitpatient to ease them out. He is sick of himself. Tired of Daniel’s hardlooks across the dinner table, tired of telling himself never againafterwards. In the moment, though, like a kid shouting fuck you tothe world, he does… [Read More]
In the Lighthouse Shadow
by Dan Rosenberg I’ll eye and mouth and handle this worldwhole, demand of the rocking chair armsand demand again of the clementine’s supple give. I’m out on the lake with thosetwo women sculling deathlessly throughthe afternoon. I’m inside my phone smoothing out my brain function: absenceblanketing the sunflower fields on both sidesof my eyes. Concern… [Read More]
Borrowed Light
by Andrew Payton after a photograph from the invasion I am not the man dead in the street.The daughter is not my daughter.Every day I wake, eat an egg, some fruit.I pour last week’s yogurt into the milk. Who am I to want? Every timeI shape the question the ends failto connect. What I mean… [Read More]
Clew
by Forester McClatchey The wind unfastened twigs from cedars; fleetindigo berries bounced to where we readtogether, dark globes jumping past our feet, and then a spritz of rain prickled sweetlydown my neck, teasing out a threadof thought. I grabbed it, felt it give a neat sharp tug, hunger-dark and indiscreet,and knew this moment’s squall was… [Read More]
