Two Poems by Mary Buchinger when birds sing I feel it inside and am changed their chirr and twee the manic insistence of my branch! my tree! the lightful song of a pale-blossom wren enters my innermost cavity & my neighbor’s windchimes too a belling song feathered-metal clang that churches inside…

Reflections by Tony Brinkley Tony Brinkley's poetry, art and translations have appeared recently in COLLATERAL, TRAFIKA EUROPE, ANA, NASHVILLE REVIEW, EXCHANGES, NEOLOGISM, POEMS IN TRANSLATION, BOMBAY REVIEW, PICTURA JOURNAL, BLUE UNICORN, MERION WEST, REVERIE, VIRIDINE LIBRARY, RUMEN, SOUL, LAST…

Motel Moths by Kevin Snyder A caterpillar fingers its way up my forearm. I’ve shut my eyes so I can only feel the fine hairs and half an inch of tiny stubs. Its head antennas the air. It doesn’t know that the whole world is the rectangle of my arm. Mom plods in. We’re in the Pink Lady tonight. I…

Hot Water by R. A. Allen Today is much hotter than yesterday.And when I slosh in on the sandbankthe sea foam swirling around my anklesreminds me of cappuccino froth.The bay's water molecules are in a riot of thermal expansion, they jostle away from each other like irritable speed freaks,causing a…

Lush Life by Mervyn Seivwright Sometimes I need a sad song Coltrane serenading the parts of me whored out as each of us have Layers loosened enough in clothes to cut skin from an Uptown Chicago wind whipping corners I hear a hiss my breath these days withers Golden hour morning on Dutch coast…

Between Leaving and Returning by Shama Shams Shama Shams is a writer, storyteller, and memoirist based in Seattle. Her work explores identity, immigration, womanhood, and the quiet resilience shaped by lived experience. She is the author of She Called Me Throwaway, which received the Top Choice…

Palmetto Station by David Colodney David Colodney is a poet living in Boynton Beach, Florida. He is the author of Gen X Redux, forthcoming in 2026 from Main Street Rag Publishing, and the chapbook Mimeograph (Finishing Line Press, 2020). A Best of the Net and four-time Pushcart nominee, his work…

Postcards by M.C. Schmidt She found them on eBay and got them for a steal. Once they arrived, she wrapped them and kept them in her underthings drawer until Russ’s birthday. “What’s this, Norma?” he asked when she presented him with the gift. She raised her eyebrows to say, Open it and see... To…

Somewhere in Asia Minor by Gordon Massman Willy Conley, an award-winning, published photographer, writer and filmmaker, is the author of Space is deaf like me, Photographic Memories, Plays of Our Own, Visual-Gestural Communication, The World of White Water, Listening Through the Bone, The Deaf…

Licked Clean by Mark Nuzzi Paul Whittaker had been collecting stamps for forty-seven years, each acquisition a small victory in his methodical pursuit of postal perfection. His Manhattan penthouse reflected a life of disciplined success. Mahogany bookshelves lined with legal texts, framed…

Tumbling, Like Sea Glass by Christy Hartman My daughter pushes a salt-crusted curl off her face, crouching to examine the pebbles surrounding the tidepool. Show her where it is, Dad.  Ruthie’s delighted squeal signals a discovery. “Mom, look!” My twelve-year-old expertly hops over the rocky shore,…

Amateur Hours by Jeffrey Thompson How can I finish anything when my first instinct is always wrongand my second instinct is to trustmy first instinct? All the wordsstand up straight and blamelesson their shelves but soon I can’t place them anymore.They are the spines of books I don’t remember…

Tammy Wynette’s Lonely Street by Terry Barr Was there ever a singer more lonely in this world than Tammy Wynette? Steacy Easton, in Why Tammy Wynette Matters, coined the phrase a “Tammy Wynette kind of pain (59).” It’s the kind of pain I keep thinking about when I hear Tammy’s version of “Lonely…

Dwelling by Kelly DuMar Willy Conley, an award-winning, published photographer, writer and filmmaker, is the author of Space is deaf like me, Photographic Memories, Plays of Our Own, Visual-Gestural Communication, The World of White Water, Listening Through the Bone, The Deaf Heart, and Vignettes…

Hovering Without Wings by Bill Wolak Willy Conley, an award-winning, published photographer, writer and filmmaker, is the author of Space is deaf like me, Photographic Memories, Plays of Our Own, Visual-Gestural Communication, The World of White Water, Listening Through the Bone, The Deaf Heart,…

i drive home from work— by Elizabeth D. Jennings the sun sags lower in my windshield than it did last week. i can’t blame her; the weight of it all, it makes a girl tired. i think i’ll nap when i get home, curl like a cat on top of the covers, curtains open so the pink-strained evening can get in.…

The Lost Boys by Kelly Murashige I find out a boy’s gone missing from a flyer on a corkboard. Had he disappeared a year or two ago, I would have found out from the news. For a while, I immersed myself in the goings-on of the world, afraid if I let a war, a bill, a cultural event pass me by,…

Take Stump Shoots by Barbara Daniels “Leap, and the net will appear.” John BurroughsYou’re in the grill basket. You’re fried.But rumor has it that certain kinds of tinfoil hats can protect you. Sleep is a wall you slip down to join phantasmas and eclipses. But sleep can order your thoughts, teach…

airport at the end of the year by Marcy Rae Henry we drive softly, before light begins, rain, fog—time everywhere but hard to see. we’re quieter than when you arrived, already redefining our space.after i miss the exit, we make a loopadding ten minutes to the journey.people say i love you for…

Origin by Phyllis Carol Agins She is on the way to the Sahara. Of ancient rivers and expanding dunes. Of oasis and caravans and myth. In the early mountains she witnesses a water source. Small bubbles force liquid from below the surface to push slowly toward the sheep that need water, the laundry…

Birdwatching by Katherine Garrison These birds are always raising the stakes.When I go out, I want to see a shrike,but instead, I am surprised by a hawfinchwhich are rare to see here, as in red listed,and I think that’s probably a good reasonto not raze through the forest in front of melike swifts…

Afterimage by Reece Jordan And so it repeats itself to him. Early summer: the beginning of July. They are at Julia’s place, sitting on a crescent of stone in the garden. The sun is out and the sky is that blend of blues, both soft and intense. Next to Ezra is a steaming mug of coffee with an…

Field Guide to the Canadian Rockies by Sharalyn Barg Some things I know telescopically: the names of Jupiter’s moons. Your voice in cursive, trust mejust trust me. My tar pit pupils trained on the carpet as if a patch of crumbs could tell me what to do. (When spent we deny deny deny.) I wanted not…

Spaghetti Face by KC Courtland That year, I drove a ‘96 Chevy Venture, a beat-up old minivan, and hauled bodies. It wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded, except it was. I had three babies and one on the way. Even with the van shouldering part of the load, I was weighed down. I’d buckle one kid then…

The Bear Outside the Window by Terry Tierney My wife points toward the window, her hand trembling. “There’s a bear outside.” She lies propped up on a mechanical bed in the Intensive Care Unit with tubes piercing her arms and thighs connected to monitors flashing green lines and digits. Her eyes…

I Forgot to Visit my Mother Again Today by Mark LaMonda I say that I am a person who does not make lists,yet I find them occasionally on my kitchen counter,in my own hand.I forgot to add water to the vase.The flowers are dead.There is beauty there,in the vase of dead things.There it is – Third…

A Small Apostasy by Samantha Lucia traded the man-god for the Mother original sin for humanity divine blood-washed for earth-rooted guilt for freedom suppression for voice piety for peace heaven for earthSamantha Lucia is a queer poet living in the American South. This was not intentional. Her…

Road to Hana by Alan Perry —Maui, HawaiiNearly every turn in the 64-mile highwayproduces a little nausea, a chicaneof narrowing switchbacks that move our equilibrium from brain to stomach.What are we searching for aroundthe next bend that curls back on us,stuck in a subcompact rentalelbows bumping…

Be Happy by Duke Stewart Harriet Bass arrives late for the afternoon matinee. The other patrons in the ticket line stare at her, commiserating on her recent divorce. She would love to scratch those bleeding eyes out. She enters the bathroom which has a vanity mirror encircled by translucent bulbs.…

Two Poems by Roxanne Cardona Landscape With Cart and SilenceJune 12,1948,one day after Gag Law 53 passed—Puerto Ricans must pledge allegiance to the American flag. To sing, speak, write, or fly a flag for island independence was to risk ten years in prison. Birds hold their song. Nothing slithers.…

On a tattoo I meant to get by Brandy McKenzie In the middle of my writer’s block, I send my sister pictures of tattoos, flash, to be specific, giving her the sense of something bright and maybe new, but what I mean is old, from times when gentle ladies didn’t get tattoos, except those few women…

Time Lost by Chris Wood If only a detective could findthe time I lost. All those daysspent brooding over what I didn’t haveinstead of what I did. All those times I had to stop,step out, and sit in each seatto roll down the windows of my first car, a clunkerthat needed fifty miles an hourbefore…

Perennial Blooming by Kathi Crawford It thrills me to take in Goldie’s bloomseach morning. Her flowersthe color of champagne—she shinesfrom the sun’s rays passing throughmy office window. Goldie was bornin the desert, so, she is packedwith cactus soil. I admireher ability to survive in dryness.In…

Two Poems by Al Ortolani Grade School DesksIn grade school we were the first classto be given new desks. Real desks, not the kindwith the lift up top, but ones with compartmentson the left side. One small one on top for ourcigar box of pencils and pens, our ink and leaderasers. The lower…

Two Poems by Patrick G. Roland At My Daughter’s Basketball PracticeTen children chase the same red, white, and blue ball.Ten small bodies collapsing toward itwith identical enthusiasmand identical failure.Eyes follow it.Fingers reach.The ball disappears beneatha small economy of grabbing hands.One…

ode to pants pockets by Sharisa Aidukaitis my thanks to the designerof these pants, specifically for thepockets that stretch past my wrists,expanding to accommodaterocks and pinecones and leavesamassed by small hands in the park;toy racecars at the dentist’s office;snack wrappers not thrown on the…

Issue 1.04 is Live! by Jeffrey Heath Our Spring 2026 issue is now live on the site. You can view the free PDF edition here. Print and Kindle editions are also available via Amazon. Jeffrey Heath, Founding Editor, EIC - January House Literary Journal

Ants by James Sears My brother Tom hunted the woods behind our house, moving through all the sharp plants North Florida offered, saw palmetto and yellow pines who leaned like sick old men. Nothing could live well here. Not trees. Not boys. Everything was vile and hard, or else it withered away.…

Snowflake by Barb Natividad Josie had to tell Eric. She’d been dreading it, and wondered how he’d react. Wondered if it was too late to tell him. They’d been dating for three months, and it had gone well. Plenty of dinner dates, trips to the movies and museums, and last week, a long weekend in…

Assateague Island by Susan Sandstrom Ellis There were horses on the island and mosquitoes thick with rage. A thrumming rhythmic hymn, dissonant. Their bites quick, effective. The swelling and scratching immediate. As a girl I'd been caught once in a storm on the island. A mile of silver seagrass…

Flashes by Laura Grace Weldon In-between ever-worsening news I see flashesbright as the best tomorrow. Thousands standing in subzero cold singing outside a detention center. Neighbors, arms linked, protecting parents and childrenat school start and dismissal time. Faith leaders from…

Today by Anne Graue there are thistles for breakfast there are rhododendron buds out the window there are black-capped chickadees announcing the morning, shrill and loud there are wheat pennies in a jar green, light fuchsia black & white dull copper there is so much to get done that will probably…

WagJaw #25 by Padma Thornlyre Are you a Buddha?I asked the fruit fly strolling up mythumb stroking my little glassof red wine. The Buddha,she answeredby flying away. Padma Thornlyre has published ten books of original poetry, including the four volumes of his "Anxiety Quartet" (Turkey Buzzard…

27 Objects You Need to Have a Baby by Helen Raica-Klotz The white walls, smooth underneath your fingers, where your palms flatten and then push each time the pain hits, your body collapsing as you struggle to stay upright. The fluorescent lighting. The cassette player, with the mix tape of James…

Artwork by JJ CROMER JJ CROMER is a self-taught artist from Virginia. His work is in many public collections, including the American Visionary Art Museum, the Intuit Center of Outsider Art, the High Museum of Art, and the Taubman Museum of Art. He and his family live on a farm in central…

After I discover the Islets of Langerhans by Annie Stenzel Coming to this charming name by chance,of course I wanted these small bodies of land to bean exotic, intriguing place I might visit one day, and nota tricky body part, essential in the managementof glucose. Which means my sundry diabetic…

Votive by Carole Greenfield Candles in blue votive holders sputter, mutter as their lightshutters, flutters, flickers while demons snicker in shadows and corners as warnings come thicker and faster, tonight six of uscluster round the table, flustered, attempting to muster our courage, our wits in…

What Happens in the Morning by Paul Ilechko This is what will happen in the morning in that brief interval when the ghosts are still visible as they scurry towards their hiding place in the darkest corners of the daytime house before the buckets of almost boiling water are spiked with bleach and…

Elegy for a Mole Crab by Heather Truett I want to write about the molecrab, its smallwhite claws halfheartedly openingand closingin the air, the waythe waves refuseto take it and I askthe sky to senda bird to eat it,so at least its deathwill matter, and thisis me, putting myhuman ideas of life…

Two Poems by Laura Denny The Nature of SunlightI want to give in again the way I did when we were newly married.In My Life, was your wedding song.I was pregnant, and we were happy for three months. Then you got sick. I remember one afternoon I wheeled you to Ocean View Park to shave your head. I…