bringing the gaps

April 2022 | poetry

            o my the pic-

                                         nic  bas-

don’t think I got                                    kets of im-

            this stuff on sale                                    per-fec-tion

                              last week

                                          it took men-ee

or cul-tiv-                                            ya year

            ate them some                                     to find them

                        were excav-

                                    ated with a knife

sniffing hog or                             or with the aid

                   old hound dog                              of a truffle-

                                             others

by weaving                                     were extrav-

                 gum wrappers                                      aganted

                                    the gum having

two in the                                            plucked out a tooth or

               process-

                            shun of my eyes

over now                                         all over the

            but the song                                        pages  it’s all

                            the drinking

                                        the dented offender

oh this is                                              apologies the tears

                all I bring

                                but there I’m be-

                                                       ing ex-

or is it repre-                                           pressive

                 sentative                                             again  again

                                or Sir Real again

                                                             but

    keep bringing                                            the big butt is  I

                                 more

                                              or at least less

                                                                             of  it

           of some

                                thing

                                                      each

                   again                                              day

                                    a  gain

                                          or   no

Steve Fay

Steve Fay’s collection “what nature: Poems” was published by Northwestern University Press. A repeat winner of Illinois Arts Council Literary Awards and a Pushcart Prize nominee, his poetry has been published in Ascent, Beloit Poetry Journal, Field, Spoon River Poetry Review, TriQuarterly and several other journals and anthologies, and has recently appeared (or is forthcoming) in the “Hamilton Stone Review, Moving Force Journal, and the Comstock Review. He lives in Fulton County, Illinois.

Connor Doyle

April 2022 | visual art

Come and See

Tethered

 

Connor Doyle

Connor Doyle is a photographer and filmmaker based in the Chicagoland area. Using a number of analog film formats, Doyle’s work focuses on the idiosyncratic details of daily life in Northern Illinois, specifically his native Wheaton, IL. Though often trivial, his subjects capture the formal beauty and potency of these everyday sites, urging his viewers to reflect on the significance of their lived experiences. Connor’s work has been published in the High Shelf Press, the Hole In The Head Review, Humana Obscura, and the Burningword Literary Journal. You can visit his website at https://connordoylephotographyfilmmaker.cargo.site/

Bethany Freese

April 2022 | visual art

Trees

Bethany Freese

Bethany Freese is a photographer and writer living in Washington State. Her work is autobiographical, and aims to capture the past and present of the Pacific Northwest.

Butterflies, Phoenixes, and Ephemeral Self-Love

April 2022 | nonfiction

Source material for Disney movies is mostly R-rated. Take Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid, which hinges on premeditated murder. There’s also the idolized butterfly. In truth? It’s grisly in the cocoon. The caterpillar isn’t sleeping, it’s liquifying into protein-rich ooze.

Hallmark disavows it, but I celebrate the hero’s journey. We can also burn to ash and resurrect victorious. Hardships convey alchemy. Our spiritual journeys are the same—annihilation then rebirth, like the legendary phoenix. It’s how we emerge with wings and launch our fellow suffering… through the passion of our personal resurrections.

Spiritual work naturally generates a higher quotient of self-love. Though emotions are shifting and relational, there’s Grace beneath our imperfect perfection.

Self-love exists on a sliding scale, but God’s Love is immoveable. Once tasted, it forever fosters your ability to embody it.

Susan Dyer

Susan Dyer is a champion of women’s spirituality. She was born clairvoyant and merged with unnamable ‘God’ in a 2017 near-death experience, which clarified her journey. She graduated Hamilton College with a B.A. in Creative Writing and Cultural Anthropology. She’s published in FOLIO Literary Journal, Dance Magazine, forthcoming in both NINETENTHS Quarterly and Down in The Dirt. Find her at www.susandyer.com and on social media @SusanDyer1111.

Next of Kin

April 2022 | poetry

our granddad fought the Germans but I battled through lunches

my bloodline gathered in the kitchen      uncles with 5 o’ clock

shadows mistake me for schoolgirls they lured with pocketmoney

& promises          I pull myself together in their pipe smoke

arrange tins of beans in jaunty pyramids                 kick shins of cousins

beneath the table               their tree bark cheeks ruddy         passing the sauce

as past lives lurch across history’s headland           victories chipper & hard-won

I want to start fires in the bathroom         wear the alley like a cat in heat

upend the garbage            take off my clothes           swear like a trooper

slice my thumb with the carving knife    mop the blood with my bread

but I please&thankyou my way through dessert

impossible            the things we don’t say to one another

stewing like spoilt fruit & cream

Rebecca Faulkner

Rebecca Faulkner is a London-born poet and arts educator based in Brooklyn. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Solstice Magazine, Smoke Magazine, Wild Roof Journal, Pedestal Magazine, The Maine Review, SWWIM, CV2 Magazine, On the Seawall, Into the Void, and other journals. She has been anthologized in the Best New British and Irish Poets 2019-2021, was a finalist for the 2021 Foster Poetry Prize, and the Jack McCarthy Book Prize. Rebecca was a 2021 Poetry Fellow at the Saltonstall Foundation for the Arts. She holds a BA in English Literature from the University of Leeds, and a Ph.D. from the University of London.