Later, I told Sylvia that I didn’t want to play with Arnau anymore. I said that we needed to focus on the package we were presenting to the audience. He wasn’t good enough, I claimed. She drained her drool from the trumpet and said, “No te vendas.” She didn’t want me to bring my Americanness, or wherever I was meant to claim, to our group. We would not sell ourselves.

It’s like this: it’s a call and response. I’m really, literally, sending a question to my unconscious, and I’m waiting to see what comes back.

I love cute small things and my baby

would be so cute imagine

its eyes so big so bright its happy

kicking legs its pink bud of mouth

Ramon was the golden child of a musical Catalan family. He’d been handed a trumpet at age five and told, “This is your future.”

Maybe spirits? The lake

is a mirror, then it isn’t. Only

the memory of it.

Without being truly inclusive, how can we, as a field of professionals, claim to promote and see all voices, all perspectives, all experiences?

“Gwen, I feel like a man’s idea of a hysterical woman. I feel like a stopped clock rewound to the wrong time. There’s this girl; I feel like I know her from somewhere.”

The priest flinched when I handed

back the son of God I’d made

hot with my skin.

I severed the tranquility of the silent forest with my laughter. It was a warning to the beast, I told myself.

Our February collection features a range of wonderful pieces from a talented group of contributors. Despite the diversity in genre and form, it’s impossible to ignore the emphasis on human connection, exploring what it means to face loneliness. Through these stories, we are launched from earth into space and dragged back down again. After our travels, we arrive back in a place that feels the same, yet changed.

The machine needs us, not the other way around.

The baby of me going out like a light—

sisters’ hands caught mid-gesture

in sharp flight between words

“I know you’ve got to ask it,” he said, interrupting her. Again, he felt like his mouth was moving without his control. He hadn’t talked this openly in years.

You can choose a place. If you do, it will love you and not stop loving you even if you leave. I am telling you this is possible.

Here today, we're pleased to present to you these captivating, curious, and vividly moving works by Leath Tonino, Joel Gordon, Sarah Lilius, Michelle Disler, Michael Moreth, and Judith Skillman. Settle in with your blankets and a mug of tea for some winter reading as the cold rolls in, and we hope you enjoy this Issue's collection.

When you buy a house, no one tells you how many animals will die on your property.

“Sophia's aunt is dying and dreaming of visiting the Grand Canyon, dying and dreaming at once. A person is big this way, as is a moment. A chest is big. A postcard is big. A 50-cent stamp with the strength to lift immensity and carry it to Portland, Oregon is incomprehensible. The math is strange indeed.”

Depression is a stranger

handing her their wedding bouquet.

Confusion blooms outside the heavy church

where she claims the daisies.

Does that mean I’m a subpar writer? I don’t think so. I think it’s simply a result of how my brain works. As with many neurodivergent folks, I find it difficult to stick to a strict routine and work every single day. I need some variation and time to recharge.

She bent down and

put mangoes in her

pockets, moved toward

the canal. The geese were screaming.