Issue 3

by Ariel Friedman you ask me at bedtimeon your fourth birthday and when I say no, noone lives forever and you say, but numbers go forever,my mind traces the imagined course of your life—eight-year-old turnedteenager, gangly kid in a dorm turned twenty-something in a queenbed, cuddled with the shadowy figure of not-me until you are […]

October ushers in the third issue of Twin Flame Literary, a triumph of writing. This month, we celebrate voices full of passion, vivacity, and livelihood. With every issue, we are continuously impressed by the level of storytelling we encounter in all the stories, poems, and essays we read. Thank you to everyone who submitted and

by Derek Kannemeyer Sober, Ordinary, Honest Men  “On the sixth day of April, 1830, 161 years ago today, in Seneca County, NY, six sober, ordinary, honest men, acting in obedience to a commandment of God, assembled to found a church. What they did that day ranks among the most important events to have transpired since

by Ylan Arwe  My mother claims premonitions of death always come to her in dreams, or as birds gently tapping at her window. For me, news of death always arrived the same manner it does for everyone else: abrupt, awkward, downright rude. When I heard my phone ring before dawn, I feared my mother had

by Emma McCoy Emma McCoy (M.A) has two poetry books: This Voice Has an Echo (2024) and In Case I Live Forever (2022). She’s been published in places like Across the Margin, Stirring Literary, and Thimble Mag. She reads for Chestnut Review and Whale Road Review. She’s probably working on her novel right now. Catch

by Beth Richards The drive down Florida State Highway 19 is typical west-central, formerly small-town Florida: a flat four-lane, divided highway with stoplights synchronized to match the speed limit—which no one follows. Every 1,000 feet or so, a lane graciously sashays left, allowing travelers to cross the divider to access a condo complex or fast-food

by Peter Leroe-Muñoz BREAKFAST IN AMERICA To be precise, my single cup of Japaneseloose-leaf tea purchased from an Afghani waiter whohappened to be working that shift in a French cafésat down between an Ethiopian eatery and a Malaysiannoodle house knotted with Guatemalan cocineros ona city block that was previously German butfrequently misattributed as Dutch. A

by Jenna McClain It’s sort of silly, don’t you think?A clown car painted taupe,a handlebar mustache on a priest.A surgeon wearing Crocsand any faith put in a mall cop.   Poetry’s the rubber shoe,pedal to the floor,cross hanging from the rear view mirror,broken taser in the glove box.You can only go one speedand no one

by Wayne Lee Writer, editor and teacher Wayne Lee (wayneleepoet.com) lives in Santa Fe, NM. Lee’s poems have appeared in Tupelo Press, Slipstream, The New Guard, Writer’s Digest and other journals and anthologies. He was awarded the 2012 Fischer Prize and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and four Best of the Net Awards. His collection The

by Vesper Grove When I was a sister my brother told me stories underblankets of storm clouds and pillow forts because he thoughtI was scared of thunder, and the yelling in the walls. That’s whenI learned fear could bring people together.   When I was a sister my brother stole books on castles;We crafted every