spring 2017
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageConstantly Looking, Admitting Nothing Paul Douglas McNeill II
The Lady or the Tiger? Michelle Brooks
Singing in Dark Times Bhaswati Ghosh
from Electric Garden Amanda Earl
Aztlan Travels Emiliano Sepulveda
First Loves in Brevoort Park Body Analysis Erin Hiebert
Prayer For Our Past Selves Esther McPhee
Dear Miss Parker Dear Mama Chelene Knight
box cars paper plates annie ross
A Coke and a KitKat Spenser Smith
We Could Have Called Him Joe, We Didn't Juliane Okot Bitek
Romeo, Romeo, WTF? P.C. Vandall
Inside My House Gleaning Stones Onjana Yawnghwe
from Glossary of Musical Terms rob mclennan
Red Sarongs Clementine Chelsea Comeau
Constantly Looking, Admitting Nothing
I look over at my wife as she walks into the room.
She’s wearing her worn-out, faded, striped tights
—and nothing else.
She looks down at her gut,
then back at me.
“What are you looking at?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just lookin’ at you.”
She looks me up and down,
pausing briefly
—in the middle.
“What are you looking at?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “Just you.”
Is this marriage?
I wonder.
Two people.
Constantly looking.
Admitting nothing.