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Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.Continue Reading

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Curled into a ball on the bed.Better off dead. Better off dead.Relentless mantra in my head.Better off dead. Better off dead.Turn on back and before my eyes,life’s report card flashes by,a bottomless column of F and I.Better off dead. Better off dead.Too tired to cry. Too sick for why.How shouldContinue Reading

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“We should get a cat for Cole,” said Brad to Alice. “A pet would do him some good.” Alice looked to Brad from behind her “#1 Mom” coffee cup. She pulled the muffin he was about to grab away from him. “Remember what the doctor said?” Brad’s face fell, butContinue Reading

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The Deer I They would fire on three.  Red leaves, yellow leaves, green leaves. The shot—like the birth of his son. The leaves.  The animal. The son cowered in the bushes.  The father took the son’s gun and counted. One through six bullets. The son had not fired the gun. Continue Reading

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Toads are unlovely: plump, bumpy, gawkward. But I’ve been fond of them since I was young. Their inoffensive, comical dignity amused me. Gaze into a toad’s lovely golden eyes and you quickly become its friend. Why, then, did I shoot a toad in my backyard when, age twelve, I hadContinue Reading

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The trees are old in the forest of Arden. They hold many secrets. The greenest grow at the border of the tame world. Supple firs and bendy pines peak above sprawling hardwoods. Tall, wide oaks dot the perimeter charming the senses with song birds and the fluffy-tailed squirrels. Lush mossContinue Reading

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the sky was there  distorted at the edges   but there  clear crystal blue     his wings burned  his mind locked  he battled the Plexiglas sky    over and again   his head bumped  hoping   for an improbable escape    I was afraid  his death   would stainContinue Reading

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Venturing fingers among the tangle of blackberry thorn canes, questing their dark elusive prize, plucking each plump bundle, then easing it from the labyrinth of defending claws, I discover one gleaming berry ridden by a petite beetle, her flat, yellow shield an extravagant contrast against the obsidian fruit’s glistening bulb.Continue Reading

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Kenya made space in my heart for love. Before her, there was only me and vague words. We think about hearts being a specific size or shape. In fact, they are intentionally flexible by design. They have a purpose. They hold space within us. We condition them to extend ourContinue Reading