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starting a new anthology is exhilarating and frightening. kind of like peeking over a fence. will you see green pastures with idyllic panoramas full of cows. perhaps it is a hidden garden, lush foliage and bright flowers. the hint of salt water could beckon to a seafaring exploration, glimpsed just ever so slightly over wooden pickets weathered by salt and wind.

as submissions begin to fill our mailbox, we see dreams and love, floating just on the other side of the fence. glimpses of fluffy clouds filled with hope.

keep sending. we love peeking over fences.

hot july night by eric short

In your bed, pretending to sleep, secretly counting fan blades like flower petals, wondering He loves me, He loves me not, He loves me. Thank god there are five.  

A Closet Story by Jo Matsaeff

I remember dressing up as Salvador Dali for a Carnival parade at school somewhere between 2009 and the end of my teenage years.   My young face, rounder than it

Marlee Head Headshot

The End by Marlee Head

Grief is the silence that burdens the sound — one house, two homes two minds, the bones of all that hurts and remains.   The moon is hung with echoes

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