spring 2018
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageNaming Cow Field Danielle Hanson
Grim Reaper in Therapy Brandon Marlon
First Ultrasound Second Ultrasound Stephanie Yorke
drowning man is not a superhero Aidan Chafe
Ice Skating in Holland Carol Hamilton
Wet Parable Duck Carver Nathan Curnow
Trump As a Fire Without Light #665 Darren C. Demaree
The Path Discoverer Taylor Bond
Never the Desired Absence Nick Alti
Cracked Fabergé Egg Of Yes Lauren Turner
an understanding Natasha Zarin
Synonyms For Shelter Jill Talbot
He Ring Liar's Dice Confluence Derek Thomas Dew
Push Armamentarium Adrienne Gruber
Sea Room / The Adrift Exhibit / Queer Lynx Joseph Spece
Like André Derain David R. Dixon
Dear Chepe Wilbur Melissa Weiss
Synonyms For Shelter
Hole in the wall: Crawl into the bottom bunk—a shelter from nothing,
kicking the wall, clonidine keeps you from scratching out your own
eyes, but barely, a pair of Barbie panties, looking everywhere for the
Protector: You say you’re copacetic, a thesaurus open beside you because
nobody will believe it anyway, even if they understand. So you ask the girl
with the Prozac tattoo and the drug dealer boyfriend if she can spare a
Joint: Your face looks like a stippled painting where your skin tries to
break through your lies, your collection of words as if you’re at The New
Yorker Festival , an overpriced bottle of rosé and a cigar, hiding from the
Security: The dictionary may make you sound bombastic, but it will not
stop your fingers from turning yellow—the mercury that poisoned what
could’ve been. Overexposure was invented long before you came along.
A selfie stick to protect from oncoming traffic—who said this was a good
Hideout: A Hope tattoo begets loss, an unroofed shelter—what that’s
called is not in your dictionary or thesaurus. Hope’s mistress? The Love
Shack: The dank smoke pit is missing a wall where anger took charge.
You find a better word—acrimony. Looking for the roof that won’t
collapse, the glass slipper that won’t shatter, the nicotine haven, the yellow
Umbrella: What’s water? the little fish asks. What’s future? the foundling
asks with scabbed knees and a crucifix necklace, playing with a Jenga
Tower: The mapmaker’s children go without direction, the photographer’s,
without a reflection. The hermit’s, without a Picasso, hula hoop, prayer or
Hermitage: The mirror was invented before anyone wanted to see themselves.
That’s more true here than anywhere. Every night you dream of the same
Crib: Every ancestor before you survived so you could sleep beside a girl
who tried to take a rat outside in as a pet. The hat maker’s children never
have friends. At midnight you find a tooth and a used condom beneath your
Shadow: You absquatulated your own story and are left with quarter
flaps in your bra. Looking for tomorrow in a mirror that never tells you
what you want to hear. You want to think your acne are stars. A cat
sprays outside, feral as the shelter girls, the tongue of a tiger, marking his
Turf: A Foundling wanders outside the shelter gate, searching for the
aftermath of the apocalypse before it’s started. Not every orphan wants a
Guardian: You want a foundling to take you back, back, back, before
any of this—back to 1839 when daguerreotype was invented, cats
were psychics, Darwin married his cousin and women were put in the
Sanctuary: The thesaurus is your only friend. Trust is earned, you say
to yourself. A red circle—first on the list of synonyms for shelter—
Asylum.