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Fish-God

crocus in my Kansas yard. A rite / for my fertility, a crowded room / where I am the only one singing.

Poetry by Maddie Pospisil


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Someone Simple and Kind

Gurney Norman Prize for Fiction: 1st Place

I almost felt grateful for the experience of being somebody’s mistress, Sylvia rolling off of me and springing up from my mattress around 5:30p.m. the afternoons I got to see her, the working day over. It made me feel great kinship with Mrs. Wilson from Gatsby, and I thought about her a lot, and how the room must have felt utterly abandoned each time Tom left it.

Fiction by Amarlie Foster


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40 Below

lemon bits float / like a slow / snowfall. I leave / a pile of sunflower seeds / on the sidewalk / a carrot on the stoop.

Poetry by Ryan Vine


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Heliographs

Gurney Norman Prize for Fiction: 2nd Place

By then you had already moved on, eager to go out into the sun-spilled city, to see all the spaces across which we’d moved. Trace a psychic map that would make sense to no one but us. Tracking our ghosts here, to this moment of July.

Fiction by Jared Green


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