The size of Inch, a tiny lit mag (larger than an inch, 4 ¼ by 5 1/2, but I suppose 4 1/2 inches might have been a little less snappy of a title) is nice in that it allows you to easily carry it wherever you go. You can even slip it between the pages of another book. And the brevity of the pieces inside (that would be one thick War and Peace at this size) mean that you can easily read and re-read the pieces and turn them over in your head. In the particular issue that I read recently (Summer 2010) the short short story “Two Kinds of People” by Clare Marie Myers is an understated story about searching for meaning and what happens when it’s not to be found. There's also a lovely and unsettling little poem from Colleen S. Harris.
The Post-Script she doesn't Write:
Send me the spent shells of your enemies.
I will string the brass of the bullets
that missed into a necklace of luck.
I will wear it until the greenblack stain
creeps around my throat like a bruise,
a death-echo. A reminder of my promise.
Where you go, I follow, Always.
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