Portrait of the Artist Lost in Target

By Ryan Griffith
Where are you Andy Warhol, in all these acres of antiseptics and ointments? Are you hiding under the racks of slacks like a petulant child too cool for his mother?

The Twin

By Sam Baldassari
At the hospital, I’m the bad news. My sister, however, lives. She grows, laughs, and bleeds. Wears clothes and removes them. Scribbles in a journal. Prays.

Spring Again

By Jess D. Taylor
My second March without a backyard, and while yes, I miss things about the last place we rented together (especially the thick grass where the girls ran circles), our first rental is what I keep conjuring.

A Recurring Mistake

By Diane Gottlieb
Is there any other kind? Bless the soul who learns from her first. Not me. I’m a sucker for repetition, even when it hurts.

Calling at: Pharmacy, Florist, and Off-Licence only

By Lucy Goldring
Strange to go against the flow, to squeeze through bodies hell-bent on bagging seats aboard a train going nowhere.

When the Solid Gives Way

By Kathleen Latham
The dog trotted onto the frozen pond to fetch an errant stick. That is how I picture it, at least. The boy trudging along the snow packed shore.

Rubbernecking

By Natalie Warther
It could be a tire term, or the title to a story about two duckies in the bath. It could be a waterproof turtleneck company, or even a condom-to-neck sex slang.

The Audubon Bar

By Maureen Aitken
When it was too late, we realized all the punks here dressed like birds. Ravens in the corner, sipping Cape Cods. Hector, with his Kodachrome Mohawk, surely a parrot.

A Red Balloon, Too

By Andrew Stancek
Still waiting for Dad, three days later, with enough kibble for Rocko, a half-full bag of birdseed for Raa, the heel of a pumpernickel for us. Mr. Stefan is sure to drum on the door today, squeezing out rent money.

Memento

By Sarah Scott
The day Lucinda turned nine, her father appeared at the back door. She hadn’t seen him in two years.

Pecking Order

By Jayne Martin
Our food, untouched and cold, sat forbidden until he had finished his. Tears only brought his fist slamming against the table, upending our dishes, twisting our stomachs into painful knots.

A Blanket Decision

By Elizabeth Zahn
At the Twisted Stitchers meeting, I held up my first, nearly finished, crocheted baby blanket. They oohed and ahhed. “But look,” I said, “There’s a mistake 40 rows back. Should I frog it?”

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, Clay to Kintsukuroi

By Susan Hatters Friedman
My deep purple vase sat proudly on the dining room table of our tiny home. Black sand from Te Henga was the temper I had worked into the clay.

Closing Time

By Patricia Q. Bidar
Fiona banks her ride in front of Mel’s Hot & Cold Heroes. Her Oldsmobile Cutlass is like a battered lemon shark.

Chloe

By Eric Wilson
Hi, it’s Arlene Radford down the street. Sorry to be phoning you so late at night, but it’s about our cat, Chloe.

The Path to the Dark Side is Covered in PB&J

By Tonja Matney Reynolds
Sarah’s eight-year-old son is freaking out. His one perfect origami Yoda is missing.

Lipstick

By Sarah Freligh
We learned to paint our mouths kissable, but were taught not to. By the parish priest, by our mothers, by Seventeen magazine.

Lost Boys

By Stephanie Yu
Years later, we would have mortgages, car payments, and life insurance, but no recollection of when we all dropped acid together in the high desert after graduation.

Domestic

By Frances Gapper
Luke started to howl as Mum click-clicked the washing machine. “He’ll be all nice and fresh!” she cried in her bright and ruthless voice.

Embroidery

By Thaisa Frank
Because I couldn’t find you, I embroidered little houses and visited each one. Some houses floated, tugging on their threads.