Issue 2

by John Dorroh Please understand that I know what I saw: metallic dragonflies dancing like tiny ballerinas on thepicnic table, the end closest to the wormwood that spills out of the container like witch hair,silvery and brittle, begging for moisture. Mardi gras colors, scales on wings stacked like shingleson a roof. Delicate yet aggressive, their […]

by Melanie Figg Backstory It was the housewhere divorcing beganin earnest. Houseof silence, houseof dissolve. Thepoisoned groundreeled. One girlcleaved, one doubled-down.It’s too easy to lookback and add inwhat we knownow: his affairs, hergirl-trauma. Meanwhile,they unpackedinto smaller andsmaller spaces.And the armynext doorkept a recordof the ruining,the toxic river,their breathtakingrecklessness, the yardwrecked with recklessdisregard. Despite,that girl got

by Mona Mehas obsession with the shape of treesdisturbed by easterly winds like blades of grass, I weave my wordsringlets open under the summer sky the sponge in my head is saturateddeep pores, peel the layers a gentle breeze, my breath in tandem to still me in my personal forest Indigo Buntings bluer than my

by Donna Faulkner I live     in a house     with dead people.I live upon dead people’s land.   Thinning carrots, I senseghosts     in the garden.   kneel     in sod, sift     throughdirt     heretofore toiled.   Buried deep     beneath pink Damask rosesA dead dog     barks     at the backdoor.  

by Alison Eastley After the summer of pollination, the noise of dying insectsis nothing but a thin tremor for a clique of circling wings,this strange ceremony of long-eared bats hanging upside down in the backblocks behind thin skinned paperbarks,   I remember saying melaleuca, melaleuca as if milk,honey and wine could incite dangerous sensationsaway from

by Daniel Naawenkangua Abukuri The mower’s teeth are sleeping in the shed. Today, I pull weeds by hand, small murders of green, roots snapping like bone. Mockingbirds jeer from the neighbor’s elm.   I don’t speak. I owe the quiet something. This house has known too many names, some given kindly, some carved in spit.

by Irina Vérène spring is coming with a strawberry in the mouth whipped cream skin and sparkling sugar eyes plump lips overflowing red, stained with a passion too fervent for a fragile flower pinprick blood-point juice drop tongue too sharp to be sweet as the nectar bees crave cutting-edge teeth tearing through soft flesh bites

by Sampurna Chakraborty She rose up from the ashes, Anointed and clean. Life’s eternal glory unfurled, Breathed and set out to dream.   She sniffed the rapid air,  And walked the burning land, She looked up and sighed, At the tainted hues of the sky.   She knelt upon the barren land, And embraced its

by Mark Blickley Corporal Toby Weydig was lazy. Some people might think of him as a good person or a bad person, but everyone acquainted with Corporal Weydig would agree that he was extremely indolent. In May of 1970, Toby was discharged from the Army after honorably completing his two year draft obligation. Although Toby’s

In a climate that has been rocked by turmoil, we hope that Twin Flame Literary offers our readers a concoction of thoughtful consideration and intellectual curiosity. This issue, we’ve selected works from 27 amazing writers and poets – pieces that made us sit up straighter, shed tears, and slump down in grief. Thank you again