Entries by Sara Stancliffe

I Haven’t Masturbated in Five Days
for Fear of Crying

Eloisa Amezcua

her eyes closed the way my eyes sometimes close when I reach a hand  between my thighs              pretend they’re someone else’s fingers that slide  the unsexiest pair of panties I own to the side of a lip                              her neck  outstretched          the curve of her trachea like the bend of a hipbone  that peeks above the waistband of low-rise […]

Maurice Milkin, Eraser Carver

Michael Martone

I go to the Pink Pearl factory store at the factory and buy the ones, discounted, beyond their expiration date. Stale erasers. I have been sculpting for years. Sculpting is about seeing what is not there, the negative space, the foil, the relief. It isn’t lost upon me that in my way I am erasing […]

Mario Talarico’s Peonies

Michael Martone

My favorite variety is the Eleanor Roosevelt. I am very conscientious in the spring. I stake and cage the plants. I am careful to deadhead the side branching buds to lessen the weight. I know, you are thinking about the ants, but I don’t mind the ants. The ants are as drunk as I am […]

The Weeping Willow Windbreak of Winesburg

Michael Martone

FDR himself came to Winesburg and planted the first few saplings. Well, he didn’t actually plant them himself but sat up in the Sunshine Special and directed things. He wanted to build a grand shelterbelt from Canada to Mexico. We wanted to do our bit. The President motored away in that big old Lincoln, and […]