• “‘Is Bigfoot a Christian?’ and Other Questions About Life” by Paul Barach

    Frozen in mid-stride, the Bigfoot gazed at us with wide curious eyes. Dan and I weren’t at all afraid. Despite its towering height and gorilla-thick bulk, there was an intelligence in its expression, a human softness beneath the ridges of its ape-like forehead. Coarse brown hair covered the rest of its body; a reminder that however much we wish to see of ourselves in an animal’s eyes, we lost that fur and that wildness long ago. We both knew it wouldn’t be wise to get much closer. Plus, we couldn’t. The doors of what until recently was Denver’s Premier (and only) Bigfoot Museum and Gift Shop were chained shut, decorated…

  • “Stop, Drop and Roll” by Mercury-Marvin Sunderland

    “Tobias. I hope you understand.” Tobias looked up shyly. He was sitting on the kitchen floor, defenseless. His backpack was lying beside him. He was already getting picked on at school. Having to leave the classroom while everyone else got to learn something he didn’t was going to make him even more of a target, for sure. Though he was young, he knew that missing this knowledge was going to affect him negatively, even if he didn’t really understand why. “Mom,” he protested, “I really don’t think it’s the Devil’s work. I just want to learn.” “Honey, there are many things that you don’t understand,” Mary remarked. “But I can’t…

  • “Ode to Orion” by Sandra K. King

    Sunbeam footprints shimmer along the gravel road; stardust shards of quartz are as twinkly-eyed as were the gentleman’s whose resting place  I’d hope to visit, located just past the alfalfa fields and beyond the farmer’s fence where they lie cradled by the roots of the tall tree  into which shared soil he has been interred. Hands and feet once dedicated to good works– faithfully, but not flawlessly executed– are perceived by many to be now stilled yet believed by others to have transcended  beyond our spectrum’s perspective. As the aspen before me quakes and the earth below its branches is quiet, an arrow from the gentleman’s quiver is heard to…

  • “The Names We Give” by Tyrean Martinson

    A friend of mine mentioned to me that she doesn’t know the names of many of her neighbors, despite having lived by them for years. Instead, she and her husband have given the neighbor’s names: Bluetooth Guy, Weed Guy, Yoko and Whatshisname, Mick Jagger, Johnny Carson Girl. She said she doesn’t want to know the names her neighbors may have given her.

  • “For Creation” by Elizabeth Beck

    Though all we’ve got is grit and spit we can still build good things— still weave nets to catch each other nests to welcome and warm strengthen ties like flexing muscle,  tougher each time. Though all we’ve got is pluck and muck we can still grow good things— still plant seeds of justice nurture hothouse passions prune our dying branches, to make way for spring. Though all we’ve got is earth and breath and blood and sweat— That is all that we need. Elizabeth Beck is an island writer who likes to share scratched-out and blacked-over words. A deep love for the South Sound Region is only exceeded by her…

  • “Pure Vision” by Dawn Ellis

    I am present Here, In this moment, Just after 6 a.m., in Rumpled clothes From yesterday Thrown on to Meet the empty beach, Before the noise of The day begins. When peace like a river, attendeth my way… Squinting at the morning rays, Sunglasses forgotten, I have pure vision of Blue bay And sky, of Golden morning and Two retrievers Walking with me. Blessed hope, Blessed rest of my soul… I feel the comfort of Steady crunch, Tennis shoes on Beach rock and Paws of my two friends Padding alongside. They stop to roll on The sun-warmed beach and then Spring up to sniff everything, Especially crab shells. I hold…

  • Past Themes and Instructors of The Writer’s Workshop

    The Spoken and the Unspoken: Making Your Dialogue Sing June 17, 7 – 8:30 p.m. FREE, Registration Required–Space is Limited ABOUT THE INSTRUCTOR:Heather Momyer is the founding publisher of Arc Pair Press. Her fiction chapbook, How to Swim, was published by Another New Calligraphy, and her stories and essays appear or are forthcoming in Another Chicago Magazine, The Forge Literary Review, Puerto del Sol, Bennington Review, and other journals. Awards and nominations include a best fiction prize from 303 Magazine, Pushcart and the Sundress Best of the Net nominations, and an honorable mention in a Glimmer Train fiction contest. She holds an MFA in creative writing and a PhD in…

  • Cotton Candy Ghosts of the Pier by Elizabeth Beck

    like a late summer bee diving into a bowl of pollen He’s outside smoking beyond the thin curtain framing him, bridal, in the gauze of just-before-night ecstatic blue, blazing almost neon before thundering into black lit ends of cigarettes as lighthouse beacons beckoning, warning those are scuttling, tearing rocks His mouth is full of them a graveyard of stumbling blocks a velvet viper poised and coiled In the coals of his nicotine fired chest there is diamond dust that glitters up into his eyes when he holds something, tightly, that should not be held and takes whatever he can get His hands on leaving skin flush-painted off-brand signs on a…

  • “You Are a Poem” by Jennifer Preston Chushcoff

    Every agony and ecstasy Every pulsing, beating, breathing Moment You are a poem. Your body beloved Is Hallowed. Sometimes broken or bent, But always remember this, Always Holy, Always Healing. You are becoming. You are a poem. Made of earth, of comets And collisions A violent beauty at birth. Your cries, your voice, A sacred song. Each unseen defeat, Each anguished faltering, You gather and rise up— A Battle Hymn Written on your skin. You are a poem. Jennifer Preston Chushcoff is a word nerd with a Halloween heart. She was born and raised in Southern California and continued her trek north after attending UC Berkeley. Jenn has been frolicking…

  • “Funeral” by Troy Kehm-Goins

    An erasure of Chapter 69 of Moby-Dick The bodyflashes Slowlyinsatiate rapacious floats further and furtherfloats murderousfor hours and hours pleasant joyousdeath floats infinitemocking mourning life needed itthis desecrated bodynevertheless floating straightaway the corpsewith trembling fingersleaping over a vacuum There’s your lawthere’s your orthodoxy!Thus the great terror death a worldyou my friend?There ghosts them. Troy Kehm-Goins is a Puyallup poet and artist who has been published in WRIST, Post Defiance, Read Write Poem, and Les Sar’zine. His work is a mixture of the everyday and the mythological, drawing upon diverse influences and inspirations. He has also self-published four poetry chapbooks, the most recent of which is Black Psalms. He resides online at…