Vixen

by Stella Wulf She lies low, watches the last crow ________fletch the bloodshot sky, ________________straight as a quarrel home to roost. A tatter of bats whisk...

Fluke

by Rebecca Gethin People wander the shore looking to sea as though waiting for a god to manifest, or a sign of an epiphany, an oracle from the expanse. We stare...

Warts and All

by Jessica Groenendijk I am passionate about cats. I admire their fluid grace and their shape pleases me. Not for me the slavish neediness of dogs, I prefer the...

Footnotes

by Brian Johnstone It’s the pattern of a dance, not slow, slow, quick, quick, slow; but slow, slow, slow: the macro prints that show the steps – not feet, but f...

Prairie Dog

by Tricia Orr In your red clay chamber, you lift your velvet pincushion of an ear – what do you hear? Biologists have recorded you. If I wear blue your alarm ca...

Spinal Tap

by Kathy Miles He’s a motley, a bag of pick-and-mix. Black and white bullseyes, caramel, a splash of raspberry ruffle under his tail. He’s drumming ...