I practice the front crawl. I push. I breathe. I sturdy myself. I blow out when my head’s in. See and hear the gurgle. In order to keep myself aligned.
Flash Fiction by Kim Chinquee
I had been just as surprised as one might expect when, at the age of ten, while making breakfast one morning, I cracked open what I thought was a normal chicken egg and found, covered in egg white, a tiny naked man—full head of hair, a Roman nose, strong tightly-muscled arms. So statuesque, lying prone in my mixing bowl.
Fiction by Michael Mau
dark bruises of waves / turn / like lathes
Poetry by Brandon Thomas DiSabatino