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Excerpt from Naked
by: Sara Verstynen

At forty-eight, he looks dead, but our
breathing is always the same: light and
shallow, so unlike our knowledge of each
other. I tap the side of his cheek with
my fingertip and say nothing.

Entire poem in PGI #6 along with the poem Cutting Her Hair


Excerpt from September’s Almost Gone
by: Michael Kriesel

sometimes I think we’re singing to ourselves
like children when they play alone
but sometimes we connect like leaves
spreading water colors through the trees

Entire poem in PGI #6


Excerpt from In Pairs
by: Olivia Friedman

my mother is nothing like the old wedding dress
that breathes

sprightly in piano top pictures.
she is yellowed and fraying,
dressed in cobwebs of scales and lace

Entire poem in PGI #6 along with the poem infidel

















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