We are looking for short fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, visual art, and photography that explore all the dirty things we’re told to scrub away… and what happens when they stick around.…
I want to burn everything I own/repelled at the staggering piles of junk/accumulated over eight decades…
Memory is a magpie
grabbing shiny moments to gild her nest.
Sunrise on Kilimanjaro, salt-spiced sex
in Florence, snowball fights with grandkids
shrieking as ice slides down wet shirts.
All part of her nest like sticks and twigs.…
Inventing scenes that never happened
playing with reality like a cubist painter
altering it like a dress maker
the soft ease of a mother’s shoulder
first prize in middle school math…
Let’s all remember the year 1947,
not because the Kon-Tiki sailed across the Pacific, India became independent, the CIA was
