by Abbie Lahmers
Behind the gas station, a fence spread out maybe an acre into the distance, and about a dozen goats had their noses buried in the grass. Dale hiked his pants up and jumped up onto the fence but couldn't keep his balance, so he settled on leaning. He pulled a stick of beef jerky out of his shirt and smelled it like it was an expensive cigar, thought about life after death for a minute, about how he was making his living in the world’s most uncrackable mystery.
by Coleen Kearon
Elinore liked the smell of the sawdust as they climbed the stairs to the second story. She admired the smoothness of the unfinished floors, the extreme emptiness of the hallways. In a small blue bathroom next to the master bedroom she and Lucy leafed through a Playboy magazine that Lucy’s father had thrown away.
interviewed by Derek Alger
Travis Cebula resides with his wife and trusty dog in Colorado, where he founded Shadow Mountain Press in 2009. His poems, photographs, essays, and stories have appeared internationally in various print and on-line journals.
by Catherine Harnett
Mrs. Harrow informs me over pot roast that she has always wanted to be a Deadhead. Odd that she never mentioned it during twenty years of marriage. Mrs. Harrow has always seemed content; we live …