by Tara Campbell Reno Laithienne I. “This is unsustainable,” he said. “I have to think of my career.” I knocked and knocked and knocked on his lid, but he wouldn’t let me in. II. “But I’ve been trying to make you miserable,” I said. “I’ve done everything: jealous pouting, baseless accusations, shit-talking behind your back, snooping on your phone. What is it going to take?” His head hung over the rim of his can, his eyelids at half-mast. “I’m sorry, baby, but it’s no good. I’

Fer Troulik Cabinet of Wrath: A Doll Collection by Tara Campbell, Aqueduct Press, 2021 Reviewed by Katharine Blair In my early twenties I worked for a year in a convent-run Home for Unwed Mothers, which is odd given that I was neither religious nor living in the Victorian age, but need does as need must and at that point what need needed was money for school. I’d be a mother myself two years later. Wed, if you’re nosy, like I tend to be. Any birth story — ask me, if you like

by Tara Campbell Dear Sunflower In its dreams, the Kraken remembers the touch of tentacles on its skin, of suckers all over, of being held by something other than itself. The Kraken was smaller then, not yet a beast. Back then whales were giants, not the tiny grey trifles they seem now; and the Kraken leapt with dolphins and raced with stingrays until it grew and frightened them, and they fled. Now the ocean is vast and cold and full of creatures that fear the Kraken, leviath

by Tara Campbell Joseph Greve I was expecting a package that day, so when I heard a knock at my condo door, I opened it. No one was there. Then I looked down and saw a piece of meat on my little raffia welcome mat. It was a purplish, wet-looking organ shaped like a palm-sized kidney bean. I didn’t freak out at first, because I assumed it was one of the dog’s toys. The people down the hall have a dog, and sometimes he leaves his toys in the hallway, a squeaky rubber steak or a