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Fresh stories every week from across the galaxy.

issue 5

march 20-26

Cat Dixon, Travis Stephens, Rachel Dziga, Jake Quick, and Tana Buoy with new poetry, collage, art, and fiction.

Flip through/download the issue or read individual stories below.

issue 6

march 27-april 2

LindaAnn LoSchiavo, Lisa Piazza, Elizabeth Rose Wilson, and Madison Summerville with new poetry, photography, fiction, and nonfiction.

Flip through/download the issue or read individual stories below.

the duality of homes

Madison Summerville NONFICTION 

My mother throws the casserole in the oven after adding expiring ingredients and vegetables to the beat of raucous drums playing in the background. When the casserole finishes cooking, we all grab plates and serve ourselves. Sitting in the living room with the television playing a crude adult animated series, we eat.

trickle back, sad sack

Lisa Piazza FICTION 

Rae was a gray woman then. Shadow-self. Seldom-felt. Gray night, gray sight. Out the window now she imagines the clouds form a window. A door. She could walk through it if she believed there was anything on the other side.

waiting for her

Elizabeth Rose Wilson PHOTOGRAPHY

boardwalk soda fountain shop

LindaAnn LoSchiavo POETRY

I watched as you’d extend a palm beneath

A ripe banana, tenderly, as if

To ask permission. Or you’d let me tuck

Wildflowers into cleavage held aloft,

Slick, sweaty, suntan oiled, flecked with sand crumbs.



You like it dirty — even though your hands

Are spotless when you mix strawberry shakes

Howler Daily archives

raised by wolves

Travis Stephens POETRY 

I shiver, understand as always

my teeth rotted and dull.

Even my father, that son of a bitch,

kept his bite until the end.

I was always ignored

last to marrow

filching bits from

other’s old kills.

earn your keep.

after the relapse

Cat Dixon POETRY 

I will never know the zaftig bosom of a mother during a fever, incessant nag, the body swap, the unconditional love. We both lacked what we both lacked—both pulled into a whirlpool, a tornado, while everyone stood by and laughed or rubbernecked. Up ahead the cars will slow down for an accident. The firetruck, coppers, tow truck will spin their lights. Perhaps help is only a call away. 

year of the rabbit

Rachel Dziga COLLAGE



At the grocery store, I’d selected them from the box labeled RIPE because I couldn’t remember how to tell the difference between a good avocado and a bad one. Something about squeezing and being too proud to ask for help. The blade presses against the first and the insides give way before the leather skin does. Same with the other two. My throat constricts. Shaking, I drop the knife onto the counter, pick up the avocados and press them between my hands, a non-bright green mush oozing from between my fingers, shedding their suits and seeds in my fists. You were in remission. 

lake retreat

Jake Quick ART

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