I like the way the paint peels off the ceiling at Cemitas Las Poblanitas—full, satisfying sheets drooping down—and the way...
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Issue 23
Clayton Spencer is an Appalachian poet from Southeastern Kentucky. He holds a BA in English fromthe University of Kentucky.
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My mother calls me one evening to tell me I can no longer call her by our name— Or to...
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We found a raspberry patch in full bloom threw them into the brooding, balmy sky turning raindrops into gumdrops. The...
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“Do you know what sleep means?” joked Jamie. “It’s a combination of be and quiet.” He was bothered again, like...
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The drive started out pleasantly. When I left Pittsburgh, I didn’t really know where I was going. I dropped my...
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Anya screams from the attic and I know at once she has found the crocodile. I remain by the living...
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It starts as these things always do with the first one. You don't notice it at first. It is just...
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The Lost Body My body is missing. I woke up one morning and I was there, but my body wasn’t....
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Without my knowledge, my body made the decision that I can only cry once, maybe twice a year. I try...
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