Dear Reader

Dance is the creation of a memory through the mnemonic of rhythm, repetition. Music is maths: count, geometry of two bodies shaped to attract, repel, attract again. An index and middle finger make a vee-shape, tap twice. Costumes add a layer. A high ponytail, curled to bounce. She feels her pastel rainbow fringed  dress still move when she stops. The tune, adapted to be heavy on drums and bass so vibrations can be felt. She was nervous about this: quick, quick, quick flick under a quiver of lights. The audience waves its applause. --- Emma Lee’s publications include “The Significance of a Dress” (Arachne, 2020) and "Ghosts in the Desert" (IDP, 2015). She co-edited “Over Land, Over Sea,” (Five Leaves, 2015), was Reviews Editor for The Blue Nib, reviews for magazines and blogs at https://emmalee1.wordpress.com.

Look at you groping soup, sodas, meat, dairy.  How much you touch: cart & goods, key fob,  credit card, pockets of your cargo pants.  Brushing tops, collecting agents,  lifting a loaf of bread or thumbing fruit.  Might as well splash virus like a body spray  as if trying to attract an attractive mate  to bite your head off in the afterglow. --- Ace Boggess is author of six books of poetry, including Escape Envy (Brick Road Poetry Press, 2021), I Have Lost the Art of Dreaming It So, and The Prisoners. His writing has appeared in Michigan Quarterly Review, Notre Dame Review, Harvard Review, Mid-American Review, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes and tries to stay out of trouble. His seventh collection, Tell Us How to Live, is forthcoming in 2024 from Fernwood Press.

My father smelled of the forest; some of that was his nature,  most of it came out  of a green glass pinecone.  My father had big hands.  He used them to skim the pool,  to build me a clubhouse,  and to wrap me in the grizzliest bear hugs.  My father had a series of laughs,  from piercing to growling; all powered by a joy so intense it rattled the earth.  These are the things I remember.  These are the things I miss.  The smell, the feel, the weight of his presence in this world; a presence so great no absence could wash it away.  --- Joseph Lezza is a writer in New York, NY. Holding an MFA in creative writing from The University of Texas at El Paso, he is a 2021 finalist for the Prize Americana in Prose. His work has been featured in, among others, Occulum, Variant Literature, The Hopper, Stoneboat Literary Journal, West Trade Review, and Santa Fe Writers Project. His debut memoir in essays, "I'm Never Fine: Scenes and Spasms on Loss," is due out February 2023 from Vine