“Where were you when nothing / was un-imaginable?” writes Sean Cho A. in Cider Press Review, Vol. 23, Issue 4. Our October issue features
It’s the one about the insomniac fortuneteller huffing down snowy streets, professing premonitions to the headless mannequins in the tombstone-storefronts. I’ve been roaming the
It takes me no time at all to make the shadow spread like a carpet. I am the advancing sea, the embers left by
Despite their best efforts, a pair of young bluebirds aren’t succeeding with their first nest. They’ve chosen a house my husband built for others: