An independent literary press featuring poetry and short fiction at the confluence of Charles Simic and Ray Bradbury. We publish books and a periodic digital magazine, Hidden Peak Review.
“No one remembers.
But I remember, under the elm’s cool awning,
watching you watch the clouds.”
— MARY SZYBIST
Spotlight
Quits
Let’s take a break. Let’s take five. No, seven, in honor of the seventh day. No, in honor of the cigarette, which takes exactly seven minutes to smoke all the way down. Let’s call it quits. Let’s take a liquid … Continue reading Quits
One Week After
The flowers have wilted now. Burnt orange half moon pistils burst forth from a sea of darkening, lily white. Amid the detritus living on the kitchen counter: discarded dirty socks, molding dish sponge, half-empty casserole pan, unsigned school assignments, sits … Continue reading One Week After
Southbound Amtrack
As the train sends ripples into the Hudson, I imagine bloodwood carvings awakening beneath the surface to be baptized in mud, to commune with an assembly of tadpoles. I think of the components of a river when I am traveling, … Continue reading Southbound Amtrack
A Dead Thing
IT IS A HUMID NIGHT in D.C. and the air feels clotted and dense, like it’s on the verge of hemorrhaging outside instead of raining. It’s sick air, damp and shameless; the perfect conditions for reminiscing. I slow my pace … Continue reading A Dead Thing
Changing Seasons
The forest is carpeted with October. The ochre, red, and gold hold an old dog firm as he limps through the dry crackling. Horse tails swat at the last of the flies, and the geese pond hop across the county. … Continue reading Changing Seasons
Wolf Mountain Center, Central New York
The wolves of Smyrna howl from their refuge to their timber kin by the Boundary Waters, to the coyotes beyond the fencing, to the yellow labs at the autobody shop. We humans hear it and long to answer the call … Continue reading Wolf Mountain Center, Central New York
The Prophecy
Because I’m the seer deep within the tower, preferring the whip to the prayer cords, the rough wool & hard stone to the downy pillow, it’s too easy to hear it from you, such prophecies of who I am & … Continue reading The Prophecy
fans over knobs
She was right, you do resemble the moon. A vision. Dim light The opening of a mouth, a door, a soul I reach my fingers through your corridors “Am I interrupting?” It’s a delicate space, pink rooms filled with glass … Continue reading fans over knobs
Working Title
Sean Doherty slammed the big glass door open and stormed across the lobby toward his office. “Sean?” Terry, the receptionist, looked up in surprise. “Trouble with Cramer again?” “With Cramer? Never. He’s a paragon of clienthood! A saint!” Sean threw … Continue reading Working Title
There Was A Falseness To Her Life
FOR A MOMENT she pictured herself living somewhere else. Somewhere far away where women fixed things in order to live… in some desert somewhere or in a war-torn town… walking home from the vegetable market with a basket balanced on … Continue reading There Was A Falseness To Her Life
Private Eye
THE MAN BEHIND the Venetian blinds never knew whether it was sunrise or sunset. He would wake up in his leatherette armchair, or on the ratty sofa he kept for naps. He would wake up next to his soft pack … Continue reading Private Eye
Use Metaphors to Describe Your Depression
Lincoln published poems in the Springfield paper dripping with daggers and cries in the dark Styron filled pages with treacherous weather howling tempests and horrific gray drizzle for me — it’s a dime-store black plastic mask I wore … Continue reading Use Metaphors to Describe Your Depression
We Lived This Way For Years
time slipped from our grasp and like a moony girl we clung harder to our holy texts filtering out life’s variegated strings, jaws of spit tautening in the crevices a mouth wishing only for a better pair of breasts. candles … Continue reading We Lived This Way For Years
The Ending Is A Sharp Point To How I Was
my mother tells me about the symmetry of the roses on her own mother’s headstone how they hold within that ancient compressed animal her spirit — and in the end we are sitting on a bench in the garden I … Continue reading The Ending Is A Sharp Point To How I Was
Metaphysical Twitch
In high school health class we measured our body fat percentages in front of our peers. I’ve passed out three times in my life. One of them was there. We were watching a Dr. Phil segment on anorexic teenagers in … Continue reading Metaphysical Twitch
On Writing
Set out to gather words like field flowers, vine ripe vocabulary hung low from crooked branches, and all too often, I’ve failed the harvest. Can’t compose from stocked shelves, would rather see those redwoods at the edge of flame, bright … Continue reading On Writing
Sudden Illumination
Clinging to a garden wall, I warn axes going up across the field to go dark, to burn far less. They have control of everything and really only answer to themselves. In a crazy manner, I crash into a crab … Continue reading Sudden Illumination
Looking Ahead
I don’t have great expectations for the distant future. My woman keeps telling me that fifty years from now there won’t be an “us.” Just the usual engineering feats of tiny underground critters. So I’m making no plans for the … Continue reading Looking Ahead
A Gay Man In God’s Factory
On my day set aside for art, I painted the pearl crescent butterfly. I chose the male, not because I’m a misogynist, but its colors are brighter, more tailored to my palette. The one in my in-box was perfectly put … Continue reading A Gay Man In God’s Factory
Under Porch Light
Brother, we have grown apart. No more jumping on the beds. Then when your wife spoke of her troubles I saw your hands move, moths without flame, exactly as our father’s did while mother complained how it was too late … Continue reading Under Porch Light
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