By Rosabelle Glover / Flash /         Mr. Ryerson, the private detective, doesn’t tell me what I want to know. The information he imparts is polite, like a proper Englishman, he skirts around the details considered best for private moments. But the folder is open, the details handwritten in fine blue ink that darkens as Mr. Ryerson lowers the blinds behind his desk to block the afternoon sun. The office feels smaller with the blinds lowered. Egg-shell-white walls press agains

By T.J. Jourian / Nonfiction /         I’m not sure what to make of this group yet.  It’s my first time meeting these dozen or so he/hims and they/thems, some with names I recognize from seeing them in my inbox every so often on a listserv for the Masculinity Action Project. We are sitting in a circle in a… well, looking around, I actually can’t tell what this room is normally used for. There are seven or eight overflowing bookshelves across three walls, a small kitchen in

By Greta McGee / Nonfiction /         On September 27, 2024, my uterus is removed from my body. I shall be unconscious the entire time,...

By Shelagh Powers Johnson / Fiction / In her more brutal moments, Maeve would say that the wrong child had survived: when the...

By Jordan Nishkian / Flash / “I have a plan to get the new hen to start laying eggs,” Eddie said, interrupting Ada’s assigned reading...

By Iris Harris / Flash /   Terrance stands in front of the mirror, averting his eye from the disdainful reflection of four decades. Long,...

By Tighe Flatley / Nonfiction /   Close your eyes. Think of a Victoria’s Secret store: the hip-hop–infused pop music squeezing...

By Sara Femenella / Poetry /   In an Uber through the valley of the blackest Birds, my mouth tastes like someone else’s   ...

By Molly Pershin Raynor / Second Place, 2024 Plentitudes Prize in Poetry /

By Emily Withnall / Second Place, 2024 Plentitudes Prize in Nonfiction / He’d start fights with me on the rare occasions I tried to leave...

By Mary Angelino / Poetry / Opening shot: the ingénue notices how they appreciate beauty— the high-backed chair at the office, leather...

By Veronica Wasson / Fiction / I was born for something else. Or so I thought. Open the heart. I waited on the platform. The yellow...

By Caio Major / Nonfiction / Riding in the passenger seat of my first boyfriend’s truck, either shortly before or shortly after we made...

By Emma Bolden / Poetry / the problem with daughters is they must also be people & the problem with people is some must also be daughters...

By Halsey Hyer / Poetry / Due to the abuse I've endured from [redacted] over the past two years I won’t be the same again. Please share...

By Caio Major / Nonfiction / 1. What It’s Like About a month ago (or maybe six weeks ago, I’m not sure, time has been acting funny...

By Joseph Byrd / Poetry / Half seeing is whole seeing, if being clear is the ultimate opacity. Once I had the audacity to be found...

By Ed Davis / Fiction / Marla hadn’t been home five minutes before the doorbell rang. Shit. She’d’ve ignored it except she was expecting...

By LaRita Dixon / Poetry / I remember the day I discovered that I was a black woman I had looked into mirrors all my life And I had seen...

by Jack Cooper / Nonfiction / The chronological sorting of memories is an interesting challenge. My time then is distant and blurry,...

by James Callan / Fiction / I saw her in a crowd.​ She? Maybe not. The sex sat right upon the edge, indeterminate. One angle revealed a...