spring 2017
Table of Contents
Return to Home Pagebox cars paper plates annie ross
Inside My House
Gleaning Stones
Onjana Yawnghwe
Red Sarongs
Clementine
Chelsea Comeau
First Loves in Brevoort Park
Body Analysis
Erin Hiebert
The Lady or the Tiger? Michelle Brooks
Prayer For Our Past Selves
Esther McPhee
Constantly Looking, Admitting Nothing
Paul Douglas McNeill II
We Could Have Called Him Joe, We Didn't
Juliane Okot Bitek
A Coke and a KitKat
Spenser Smith
Singing in Dark Times
Bhaswati Ghosh
Dear Miss Parker
Dear Mama
Chelene Knight
Aztlan Travels Emiliano Sepulveda
Romeo, Romeo, WTF?
P.C. Vandall
from Electric Garden
Amanda Earl
from Glossary of Musical Terms rob mclennan
Red Sarongs
The summer we turned thirteen, she and I
bloomed in red sarongs, fringed knots
above the knobs where our hips jutted out,
those new bones. We tucked our shirts
to bare ourselves, the notches of our ribs.
Just to see who would notice. The man
who sold pot outside the corner store
wrote his number on the back
of a liquor receipt, his hand smudging
the numbers, the paper pinned
under one palm against the store’s brick wall.
We imagined him drinking when we called
that night, when he asked us, what would you do
if I was there? My friend and I faking
strange animal sounds we’d heard on television
coming from the women we wanted to be.
Laughing behind our hands at him,
neither one of us knew the answer.