Home The fifth of November, I remember dark nights Of frost, bitter cold, biting winds, clad in Winter’s warm woolens with fur-booted feet. Into pitch blackness, a wide gulp of my heaven, The aroma so sweetly inhaled as we stride With the moon as our constant companion. Rockets and wheels spinning and whizzing, while [...]
Tag Archives | issue 62
Caleb plastic necklaces strung pretty dusty in his eyes (luminosity dulled by dime-store display) you skip around crinkle leaf sidewalk play you roll your eyes green to yellow to orange ink scratch-out paper hiding behind your grin what was there before? what did you never allow? sodden ground thoughts & secrets threaded dead grass tangled [...]
I’d Rather Die by Kim Farleigh Enrique Ponce had been hit by the first bull, a blood-stained, white bandage wrapped tight around his right thigh, his awkward short steps placing despairing lights in his eyes. There was a white tear in his pants over his left hip and red patches smeared over his legs. “I’m [...]
when I say something witty – out, because your insides can’t bear to be in. Whatever you pulled inside I deflated. I didn’t even need a pin. I saw you. When you were under the fig tree I saw you. While you loaf, I’ll be under lamplight tracing the shadow of my [...]
The Journey I wonder if The Age of the Journey has passed in America now that The Port of Arlington has become Earl Snell Memorial Park, and not one hundred yards from rocky banks where burly voyageurs and their Cayuse brides upended canoes of fresh pelts, a toothless Shell station attendant who’s a dead ringer [...]
I. The Garage Knelt beneath the staircase my skin hummed against the threat of discovery, the shock of her blonde hair, the string of his guitar, the damp silhouette beneath my thin cotton dress. Clouds of laughter and smoke swung between us, a circuit of pungent electricity rocked with soft delirium. She kissed my lips with [...]
Scattering Garden The bushes bear no seed in winter. Mourners stand on planks of a wooden arch. They release ashes onto rocks below, a sea of blank faces. Spider’s Stance An alabaster stone, smooth as the rock which bore it and washed it by the stream – among grainy bits of speckled white, stood [...]
by Abigail Robertson She talked of working in the factories, riveting metal to metal, the amount of manicures it took to right the calluses. She said it was like sewing together planes. She asked what the war was like. I wanted to say it was like sewing body to body, trying to hold the world together…I [...]
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