archives submissions blog (dis)likes

out now!

Are You Lonesome Tonight?
Alison Christy

Space is Our Future
Michelle McMahon

The Weirdest Thing
Grant Flint

Sunsets Unlimited
Stephen Graham Jones

489 Points
Andrew Borgstrom

Rain Escape
Lydia Conklin

They Shared an Egg
John Dermot Woods

First Book Roundtable Discussion
Kyle Beachy, Jedediah Berry, Andrew Ervin, Roxane Gay, Rachel B. Glaser, Julia Holmes, Caitlin Horrocks, Holly Goddard Jones, Tom McAllister, Laura van den Berg, Kevin Wilson, Mike Young

Andrew Borgstrom lives a $6.90 ferry ride from Seattle. His chapbooks are available or forthcoming from Gold Wake, Pear Noir!, Publishing Genius, The Cupboard, Greying Ghost, & MLP. He is a web editor for Pindeldyboz and the associate editor of Mud Luscious Press.


Photo by Aaron Burch

I bought secondhand hunting attire that I only wore around the house. You corrected me when I called our apartment a house. We howled until we were gender tired. You howled when you stubbed your toe on my rearrangement of the living room. You corrected me when I called a corner a room. I called you my speech pathologist instead of my girlfriend. We had that one thing in common. You kept the windows open year round. I kept upgrading the laundry hamper. The stairs we stepped to the apartment that I called our house. The gun rack I bought at a yard sale to match the hunting attire. The cost of my constant home d├ęcor. I wondered if the stairs we stepped to our apartment were sinking. You constantly ate submarine sandwiches. You asked me to return your opinions. The cost of cage-free eggs and gluten-free waffles. I refused to return your opinions by calling them facts. You never called me a gentleman. The day you called our landlord. We would watch the birds I called by the wrong names. We would open a checking account in both our names. I would feel comfortable purchasing organic produce and tampons. You would be willing to purchase secondhand hunting regalia. I would memorize the words partially hydrogenated and high fructose. You would memorize the names of the birds I would never kill. The day you brought home oil-based cheese. The ingredients I tried memorizing for the confrontation we never had. We could finally fit all our clothes in the laundry hamper. I stared at the steps.