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BURNING HOUSE PRESS

Not For Profit/For Prophecy

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touch

Traces by Lee Potts

Traces



As slow as the breathing

of the ancient giant

long said to sleep beneath

our town’s tallest hill,

snow piled up that week

against the edge

of pine needled forest floor,

then fell back like a cold ocean tide.

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An essay by Marcos Gonsalez

text me back …

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A Short Story by Fortunate Jwara

(Image: caterina_renaux, rebeca )
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A poem by Liza Wemakor

(image: mandam, up is down, shadows near lake como)


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3 poems by Ashley Miranda

(Photo by Nowshad Arefin on Unsplash

oh my eurydice
–––after arcade fire, for don

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