Two Poems by Joe Barca A Heart That Weighs Four Hundred PoundsA humpback whale nicknamed “Guardian”spots a seal isolated on an ice mass. A groupof orcas circles. The pup bleats. Guardian slapsthe water with her tail, cradles the seal on her chest.Sicily in the 1920s. A mother dies in childbirth—a…

My Life as a Chaise Lounge by Beth Sherman Lately, Eric and Katie have been fighting. Eric wants to sell me on Facebook Marketplace. Katie says, no way. I’ve been in her family for like, almost a century. You can’t put a price on comfortability. Actually, Eric claims you can. They’d get $4,300.…

Photography by Michael Peterson Michael Peterson is a retired physician, husband, dad, and grandpa. He now works on the family cattle ranch in rural central Utah. He likes reading, writing, printmaking and photography with a Holga camera.

Two Poems by Valentina Fulginiti when a poet diesit’s not every day that a poet dies,last words tossed with scattered changeinside the glove compartment, frozen under crusty soles and muddy tracks and everywhere the same panic screams its FUCK DID YOU DO’s and His name wasted on a youthful…

Saint Evelyn januaryhouselit.com/2026/02/04/s...

Snipers by Mileva Anastasiadou Horror is on the menu and we take it because we’re tired of rom-coms and light dramas and coming of age narratives, but also because horror is our only option now that we’ve grown old. They don’t serve romance to people our age. The young waiter recognizes us because…

The poem is not the words though the poem is made of words by Hilary Sallick This morning a silver cat appeared outside my window its second visit in two daysIt stepped from the roofof my neighbor’s shedto the trunk of the mulberry where it clungagainst gravity raptby the nearness of a squirrel…

Jaundice Baby by Sukayna Davanzo Sunflowers but not their seeds. Sunsets, sunrises, the sun, some brands of suntan lotion. Bananas, vanilla cake, the inside of a mango. Melted butter, melted butter dripped over fried cauliflower, finished with a squeeze of lemon. Gold, hay, most corn, maybe wheat,…

Artwork by Shane Camoin Shane Camoin, a second generation American, was born in Los Angeles and raised in Salt Lake City. Along with winning awards for creative writing and visual arts, Shane has lectured on language and identity at symposiums and conferences throughout Asia, Europe, and North…

On the Matter of Blue by Renuka Raghavan Sapna wore the dress because Maa altered the seams and blue had always been to her a sensible color. It was the color of notebooks and municipal buses, of things meant to last through the day without drawing attention. In the hotel ballroom, the blue…

Girl With Blue Glasses by Ernest Langston Ernest Langston was awarded a 2025 Artist Trust fellowship. His short stories have appeared in Litro Magazine, Oyster River Pages, and other publications. Ernest’s artwork has been accepted at Art Week, The Ana, Pictura Journal, The Vagabond’s Verse…

Aubade With First Responder by Edward Lineberry Bernard takes us to the wrong hotelthe one without the homeless campthe one beyond pedestrian reach,but he resets with aplomb and finds Little Italy, our Christmasmorning home, the slim canyons beside the highway rendered chaste,free again of tents…

Elementary Divination by Amanda Ashworth In fifth grade, I got in trouble for reading palms at school. I read about it in a book my mom brought home from Goodwill, The Mysteries of the Universe. It was a big hardback book, the cover flecked with stars. Inside: pyramids, ley lines, haunted castles,…

New Moon Story by Matthew Mulligan We met in a gravel parking lot and she took me to a hole in the fence that we slipped through and sat by the river. The sun and the moon were both in the sky and we smoked cigarettes and told each other about versions of ourselves that we thought might sound good…

In Indiana by Amy L Cornell I have checked out at Kroger and realized I had forgotten something. I double back to grab what I need so I can head home. I leave my cart full of paid groceries at the front of the store and wend my way back to the aisles. I pause at the seasonal sales—the ones with…

The Epitome of Marriage by Ashley Kirkland My husband tells memy hair isn’t curly. It’s wavy. Says I don’tclean the house. I tidy. Like I’m some woodland creature in a cartoon. What’s weird is I clean constantly, curls swinging wildly downmy back. I wonder if this isn’t the epitomeof marriage…

Why I Call Myself “Feminist” by Grace Lee Because we stared at the mirror througha fog of tears, pinching and pointingas the male gaze held us tightly in itssuffocating grasp like the dresses theysqueezed us into. Because feminismbecame the “F” word, inviting a chorusof jeers as it left our lips,…

Meanwhile, on the Other Side of the World by Nina Forsythe Is this what it’s like?You go to work, make dinner,order new reeds for your clarinet,replenish the bird feeder,you hear worrisome newsfrom hundreds of miles awayand stock up on rice, toilet paper, coffee.And then one day, just as the…

Four years gone and I am still your mother, by Ann Weil tracking time, crossingoff days— Mondays I washyour clean shirts, hang them on the line one by one they unpin, fly away, I hope they are homing pigeonsTuesdays I sweepunder your bedI am stillfinding your hairWednesdaysI sit on the rooflight a…

Every Time I Write a Poem I Fail by Alicia Hoffman Promised I’d quit if my desires, like a switch, clicked easily off. Once, under the bright lights of Westminster, I walked lightly over stones and maybe I sacrificed nothing but the sacrament. Transformation was what I was after. Promised myself…

Happy New Year When January House Literary Journal launched in May of last year, I had barely an idea of where we might be headed. I've been overwhelmed with gratitude for the response from our readers and contributors, making January House a greater success than I could have imagined. In our…

Which Muslims Do You Write For?  by Elizabeth Shanaz The ones tired of performing / The ones with tattoos and piercings and cuss words’ fragrance on their tongues / The ones who are nearly hafiz / The ones who still have to look up the steps for namaz / The ones sick and tired of that masjid…

The Question  by Karen Bramblett The Caribbean’s azure handsgather moisture, pour waterover the mountains where it tumblesdown in a rocky river to the steel bridgeat Boquete’s center. On the west side,the Caldera River is flankedby tall-spined grass and adobe homes with open balconies. To the…

Property of Hell  by Z. T. Corley after Betye Saar’s The Beast that Pounds the Devil’s Dust, 1964I was made in the Devil’s image, something like a bull or a buffalo or a unicorn, wallowing in the dust of damnation. I kneelat the Devil’s feet like a wifebefore her husband, restingmy head on the…

staycation  by Jill Khoury cape of dew on my neck / flames in the turquoise chakra / inner unseaming / no one knows i am awake right now / the moaning also a trigger / painting with bird in snow hangs crooked / portrait of my long dark ago / when the tale wrote the teller // anonymous dm: get…

Orange by C.L. Von Staden C.L. Von Staden is an artist based in Central Texas. His work has been published in Bat City Review, Rejection Letters, Last Leaves Magazine, Star 82 Review, Moon Day Magazine, Ranger Magazine, Icarus Writing Collective, Thimble Literary Magazine and Exacting Clam.

Two Poems by JC Reilly As I Anticipate My Lover Arriving in the Snow, I Make Up SomeCat-Themed Lyrics to My Favorite SongLincoln, NebraskaFlurries mixed with sleet turn the city white and slick. These things don’tseem so nice when it’s almost as frozen in my house as it is outdoors. Giveit another…

Two Poems by Katy Luxem GenerationsOne more election and my firstbaby can vote. The other daywe saw two men walkingalong the side of a roadwith a gas can. She asked What do you think are they doing? And I said, starting a fire or, perhaps, they are just helpingone another get home. There really…

Issue 1.03 is Live! by Jeffrey Heath Our Winter 2025 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

Ctrl+Alt+Delete the Sacred by Samantha Lucia Samantha Lucia (she/her) is a queer poet and photographer based in Asheville, NC. Her creative work is shaped by chronic illness, heightening her sensitivity to nuance, and she approaches both mediums as acts of witness. Her work appears or is…

Dating Parsley by Isabel Navarrete Dill weed, dill weed, dill weed echoes in my head as I scan the wall of seasonings that are packaged the same. Transparent plastic jars with green lids cover the shelf; the only thing differentiating them all is the name printed in fine font. As I keep searching,…

Effective Marketing Strategies by Hugh Behm-Steinberg Walking home I saw something dressed in green and impossible, fluttering above a bus stop bench with an online therapy ad on it, lacey dragonfly wings humming. “Hi Jake,” she waved, like she was real, and knew who I was, but in my mind I was…

Thrilled to announce the Premiere 2026 “𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰” subs are now open! (We invite all lit mag and journal editors to nominate.) Please help spread the word! Anthology to be published in April of 2026, during Poetry Month. inkinthirds.org/best-in-ink-...

Two Poems by Eric Fisher Stone Beautiful Red CreaturesWater mites ride a mosquitolike clusters of hot cherriesthe color of Mars or Arcturus,Earthworms, foxes, male cardinalsplumed with flame, tomato frogsoozing poisonous glue,scarlet ibises and their bills’ sickles,red pandas, red squirrels,…

Coluber Constrictor  by James Evans On the day you died a snake fellfrom the sky as I opened the overhead doorto my garage. It thumped long and black against my chest, slid downmy legs and raced awayinto the green, tall grass. It could be an omen,I thought, but I don't really believe in things…

Unemployment Doldrums (Kind of Blue) by Samuel A. Bellin I am released into my nothingness. I turn it into airdisturbed by the pitiful clacking of black squares. Above my gabled roof the yellow moon hangs like a pearripened and full of summer’s sweet juice. I lustand flick the dial on the record…

We Had Tea by Tracie Adams I once had lunch with royalty, but what mattered most wasn’t the crown. It was the moment a young woman in a royal-blue dress lifted her head, met my eyes, and made me feel visible at a time when I thought I might disappear. It was 1983, long before Charles became King.…

Not Charles Bonhoeffer by Wim Hylen After a drunk driving arrest, Kyle Perkins moved from Bradley Beach, New Jersey to Eldham, Colorado, a town he picked by throwing a dart at a map of the United States. Intent on making a fresh start, he adopted the name Charles Bonhoeffer because it sounded…

Restlessness Cento by Linda Laderman I am three thoughts away from the grave. Alone, I sometimes see coffins under sail. Endlessness enfleshed in emerald & frost & shades I couldn’t name without further study. The gray air molds. Geraniums heat the alleys. Jasmine and gasoline undress the night. I…

Boyfriends by Jenny Chu My aunt was always terrified I would die before I could get married. She would tell meto date whichever boys could speak Mandarin,the clumsy ones who fidgeted with their keyboardsand made little electricities every night. I picturedthem, future engineers, kissing, elbows…

inadvertently, I disturb the sanctuary of a nest hidden in a clump of shrubbery by Julie Allyn Johnson but for this zealous, late-summer breeze, today’s warmth and humidity would likely unravel my otherwise optimistic, carefree nature. finished with yardwork, I sit quietly for a well-earned time…

Fish Kebab by Erin Jamieson I order a fish kebab from Buck’s Chippy, walking the rainy streets of London with lime green rain boots. Eating lunch this way, under the canopy of the striped umbrella from my childhood, makes my office job an illusion, a passing dream. As if this is what my life could…

Two Flash Fiction Pieces by Beth Sherman Solstice I hadn’t let my mother near a stove in months. Not since she was forced to move in with me. Dinner was usually anything I could microwave – frozen burritos, mac & cheese, fettucine Alfredo, single-serve pizzas. I’ve never been all that interested…

Me or You by Allison Palmer I remember you from time to time, when I sharpen a pencil and press its new tip to the pad of my thumb to test the sharpness. Ideally, fine enough to leave a mark on the skin for a few moments, but dull enough not to break it. In second grade, I sat at my quarter-sized…

Chips by Sarah Seybold for Mamaw who worked at the Chesty Foods potato chips plant in Terre Haute, Indiana Conveyor belts roll by, and she remembers a road— Indiana to California, 1938. Her long, smooth legs and slender waist, her wavy hair ungrayed. Far away from that flat town, her mother’s…

Kissed Stain by Jennifer Mills Kerr Here, take these berries on your tongue, taste their tang as a sentinel of grief,and with the sun’s red glare, come intomy meadow to sip the morning air. See my mother, the crushed, crimson flower I handled, relenting to her hot temper,her weeping. It was never…

Your Gifts by Zach Keali’i Murphy You’ve given the worst birthday gifts, and I’ve kept all of them. There’s the crocodile-shaped keychain that hasn’t left my key ring. Its sharp and pointy tail has torn a hole through the pockets in all of my pairs of pants. Sometimes, the tail even scrapes…

Becoming Swans by Stefanie Leigh After Rachel Rabbit WhiteWe found each other’s eyes in the mirror—tendus, jetes, fouettés—for years. Our conversations, leaning over the piano, heldlike hands. Until my ring finger was freeto trace your throat, my whole palmon your jaw. Your gaze erasing our…

Roping Steers with Milton Erickson by Bruce D Snyder Twenty third-graders, six parents, and a teacher all piled into four or five vehicles and headed for Decorah, Iowa. The class camping trip circa 1981. Once there, we got the tents up, the spaghetti cooking, the s'mores at standby alert. The kids…

line and sinker by Heather Emmanuel You slide pescatarian into the conversation like it's your word to claim. “When it counts,” you say, scanning the menu. Across the table, in a crisp button-down and cuffed sleeves, she doesn’t bother pretending to read hers. “And when does it count?” The…