Three pieces by Meredith Madigosky
First Date: picked up in his revving coupe. Sitting shotgun I bite on succulent berries. Thighs stick to leather seat, lips pursed to spit pits.
I’m Not Really a Waitress
Waited tables all night. Afterwards, I take the wadded greenbacks–cross the street for cigarettes. Store clerk winks, “Can I get some fries, sweet thang?”
Gargantuan Green Grape
Rotund Mrs. Ferrell arrives at my sister’s wedding, clad in sickly green. “Look at her!” The pimply, preteen ring-bearer points, “Her boobs look like. . .”
Meredith Madigosky is a senior English and creative writing major at Widener University. She one day hopes to be a college professor teaching creative writing. Hiking, nature walks, reading, and writing are her favorite passtimes. Her life goal is to publish at least one novel, and to travel to every continent in the world.
Three pieces by Sarah Leopold
“I’ll have a Shirley on the rocks, heavy on the Marachino.” Seven years old, and I already knew how to work magic at the bar.
“It’s just funny, that’s all.” Her foggy eyes stared at the lines in my palm. She’d never been so vague. Infuriated, I glared at her.
Lincoln Park After Dark
Favorite time to go for a ride. Path is hidden, silent shadows conceal littered pavement and broken benches. I imagine away the distant honking horns.
Sarah Leopold is a senior English and creative writing major at Widener University. She is also an active member of Widener Dance Company. She is an avid fan of the Beatles and things with timeless beauty such as words, the sky, music, dance, and trees. She also has an intense fear of flying in airplanes and odd numbers. Her dreams for the future simply include being someone important to the people she loves.
Three pieces by Ken Pobo
Pinking Of You
Jerry and Jeff get into a nasty fight and throw large tables at each other. The tables grow pink wings and fly into their eyes.
When Rosalee retired she painted her house flaming red. Enormous spiders guarded the door. She named her favorite Cleo and died in his web.
I’m Not Really A Waitress
Old coot Roger Stumpeple orders a burger and mud. I quit. I will not bring him anything as vile as one of our beef rooftops.
Kenneth Pobo teaches English and creative writing at Widener University. He gardens and collects 60s music, not just the hits.
Four pieces by JP Reese
Feathers float the currents; field mice scurry across the gleaned wheat stubble.
Talons rearrange velvet brown fur: a postmodern fantasy of gore, bright red, tasty.
No Bees Please
Her poetry: all about Otto, his entomology, his absence. Write me a one-eyed daisy, its stamen stroked by buzzing tongues, busy in their Electra-like desire.
Big Apple Red
Switchblade or a cheap-ass gun, even piano wire will do. The red city is nonpartisan; this dark night and dead-eyed man wait especially for you.
The space station untethers, bound for outer limits. Mary secretes a cache of cinnamon and nutmeg. Fading senses embrace the winter kitchens of childhood, home.
JP Reese has work published or forthcoming in Gloom Cupboard, The Pinch, Forces, Gutter Eloquence, Blue Fifth Review, and a host of other online and print journals. Reese is a poetry editor at Connotation Press and THIS Literary Magazine. You can read her published work at jpreese.tumblr.com