Empty-handed by Theresa Abalos "I like the ocean," I say An offhand reply to an offhand question A lie I need the ocean – I crave the music Of silver waves on silver shores, That tragic, relentless beauty that takes me captive Every time The waves grasp my ankles They reach again and again for the shore  Whose silence scorns them to waltz away Empty-handed My feet sink...

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Three Feet by Starr Jiang Three feet. The distance between Phil’s worn leather loafers and the cherry red pumps beside him. The odd space between his sweaty hand, so sweaty that he could feel the wet dripping through his trousers onto his thighs, and her hand, crumpled in the folds of her floral skirt. She did that when she didn’t know what to...

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