Heidi Bell

In the beginning—and still—Fox dances in his black stockings, tracing a perfect arc in Bear’s periphery. His nostrils sip the air, his only waking impulse the mouth-watering curiosity pulling him forward to the hindquarters of a deer sunk in a bed of pine needles or to the ripe, delicate layers of rotting fish buried in the bank of red sand . . .

Sophie Klahr

The week after our family friend is not shot
that Saturday morning in synagogue, 

she invites us over for dinner. I’ve known
her and her husband long enough

that their names have become a single song, syllables knit with an and— . . .

D. M. Aderibigbe

Aframomum. Black-eyed bean. Cocoa bean.
Buried—in sacks—in the cargo hold.
Columbite. Gold. Pegmatite. Tantalite.
Dragged onto the lower decks.
Every single day, a crowded ship sailed
From the coast of Lagos to Bristol.
Grenade. Gun. Gun. Gun. Gun . . .

Angelique Stevens

I was still lying on my back, the white nylon bib around my neck, the sour taste lingering in my mouth, when the hygienist said, “Oh honey, you’re beautiful. You should take care of your smile.” The dentist had just given me a twenty-five-thousand-dollar estimate to get all of the problems with my teeth fixed . . .