Kristin Beck serves as poetry editor for Short Stilt Review. She has been vividly reminded of
the humble pageantry of rural Independence Day parades by the sight of her own blood swirling
down the drain of her prized clawfoot tub on more than one occasion. Her work has recently
appeared or is forthcoming in Pharmasea, Dollar Crane, and Apocope Quarterly.
Jacob Clark cannot properly describe to Sarah the toothy interior of the minor abyss that he
briefly and tearfully plunged into in the car after his niece’s elementary school’s production of
“The Wizard of Oz” because he still can’t quite comprehend it himself. He is the author of
Licking the Payphone (Sheet Ghost, 3009) and Hair Metal, Ohio (Glossolalia, 3011).
Erin Kopel is currently completing her M.F.A. at Ohio State University. She fondly recalls the
charm and simplicity of a pre-caller I.D. age in which she spent the hermetic nights blindly
dropping her index finger on a yellow page and practicing her Linda Blair impression. One of
her short stories, “Neighbor Fever”, was included in a recent issue of Panting Point B.
Anthony Lane recently received the T.L. Wood Prize for his debut collection, Sing, Aurora
(Blatant Glacier, 2010). He has been paralyzed, at least once a day for two weeks now, by the
vast range of hypothetical responses that his confession of possessing any one of his four known
fetishes could elicit from his new fiancé. He currently lives and works in Boston.
Paul Moore teaches creative writing to prisoners in Lincoln, Nebraska. It has been nearly four years
since God’s voice slithered out from beneath the roar of a televised studio audience and
commanded him to call Laura Alvey to ask if she still remembers streaking through the Norfolk
Wal-Mart at two in the morning. He has poems forthcoming in Flank and Cape Cadaver.
Mary Seigel is firmly convinced that her particular brand of undying metaphysical pessimism is
easily justified by the fact that a single drop of water will not purify a cup of oil to the point of
drinkability, yet a single drop of oil will render a glass of water undeniably unpalatable. Her
work has appeared in numerous journals, both in print and online.
Matthew Swift misses the innocence of filling sticker-plastered spiral notebooks with songs in
which incidents such as the devil melting an ice sculpture of Elizabeth Taylor (by trying to give
it a hug) serve as extended metaphors for the primal frustration of unrequited love. His newest
chapbook, Waving from the Shuttle, is out now from Carpeted Plank Press.
Hannah Young lives in Brooklyn with a Boston terrier that she has given a few different names
to. Her debut collection, Baptistery, is due out later this year from Fatal Soft Press. She is
currently perched atop an exceedingly comfortable throne in the radiant kingdom of eternal
benevolence, reading an online article about a video vixen’s miscarriage.