spring 2018
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageFirst Ultrasound Second Ultrasound Stephanie Yorke
Dear Chepe Wilbur Melissa Weiss
The Path Discoverer Taylor Bond
drowning man is not a superhero Aidan Chafe
Naming Cow Field Danielle Hanson
an understanding Natasha Zarin
He Ring Liar's Dice Confluence Derek Thomas Dew
Push Armamentarium Adrienne Gruber
Trump As a Fire Without Light #665 Darren C. Demaree
Grim Reaper in Therapy Brandon Marlon
Wet Parable Duck Carver Nathan Curnow
Sea Room / The Adrift Exhibit / Queer Lynx Joseph Spece
Ice Skating in Holland Carol Hamilton
Never the Desired Absence Nick Alti
Cracked Fabergé Egg Of Yes Lauren Turner
Like André Derain David R. Dixon
Synonyms For Shelter Jill Talbot
Confluence
A dusty grand piano falls out a two-story window into a water fountain below.
My father threw orange peels at coyotes in the dusk.
Red rocks. Mast passes slow behind shafts of river cane.
Walter, the first time you scratched my shoulder is in the desert.
Where the rock swallows the river, viscacha meat.
A chimney for the first time. Letters in erupting kilns.
The man walking the valley knows the pickaxe nightpale music.
They fought Apache for that hill so we could live and perfume the doorways.
They probably don’t have a word for piano in their language anyway.
Little orange peels are not meteors. They dry like armies into hymns.