Upstream – by Ramona Eloise

When I was fourteen—no, thirteen (gee, maybe even earlier?), the chronic pain began.

Whiteout- by Batya Guarisma

These calloused fingers built the house
In which your ungrateful soul resides

Remedy – by Kyle Hooper

These calloused fingers built the house
In which your ungrateful soul resides

Defective and Suspect- by Gerry Stefanson aka The Wordbutcher

It smells of old, forgotten things:

damp earth long buried, decanted

Oubliette – by Brett Leanne

It smells of old, forgotten things:

damp earth long buried, decanted

THE LAST TIME MY HEART BROKE – By Mr Mbonisi Zikhali Zomkhonto

So we kept change for lost off-chances,

over-the-counter jinx fixes for the chipped teeth of a heart

That bit more chunk than it could chew.

Ditchmoss – by Andrew Shaughnessy

On the day in question, the four seniors, packing cellophane bags of caramel corn, presented themselves at the circus tent early to take their seats in the back row of the floor section adjacent to the centre ring. A family of four was in the front row, trying to settle twin four-year-old boys each seized with fear at being so close to the action. Hank studied the scene as if this were one of the circus acts.

Weary Willie – by Bethany Bruno

The band leader saw the flame first, signaling his musicians to begin playing “Stars and Stripes Forever,” or what circus folk used in code for “emergency.”

Fair Field Gate – by Eric Janzen

Yet afterwards he seemed to slip away as though the world had become too much for him. How could she have left him there?

Where We Have to Go – by Lindsey Harrington

We queue up with all the semis, car carriers full of souped-up SUVs, reefers of Mexican spinach and sweet peas, empty logging trucks, and full livestock trailers. And us, with our secret cargo.