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Pianoforte

Nonfiction by Angela Palm

 

You are the music while the music lasts.
–T.S. Eliot

My friend R. asked me once what drives my creative work. “Sorrow. Desire,” I said.

“Those are very different things.”

I disagreed. Everything I wanted made me sad.

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Wax Palm and Bougainvillea

Fiction by Casey Bell

Juan Carlos replanted my hydrangeas and lilies into large clay pots on rolling casters so I could rearrange them on my own, so I could be sure they had the perfect balance of light and shade through summer and spring.

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Shit Pond

Fiction by Casey DW Jones

It all started shortly after we killed that possum. Coop and I were down at the Sandpits, an old gravel quarry filled with water, a half mile south of our trailer.

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