October 14, 2019

No one made the desert bloom. At its edge, the desert was oasis. It frothed. Dozens of springs and seeps poured from the foothills, the earth shifting in fitful sleep, its breath scalding, cloaking itself against the cold. They poured into a great, warm lake, and on in...

March 22, 2018

I want the word for “to not map, ever” —Graham Foust

We are more alike than we knew. We are always smiling, or so the old thyroid patient’s joke goes. Repetition does not scare me, though silence does. The absence of wind, of passage, unnerves the best of us. We expect...

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Torrey House Press

150 State St.

Ste. 100 Ofc. 36

Salt Lake City, UT 84111