spring 2020
Table of Contents
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Humid Weather
Me of Me
Catherine Strisik
Tchaikovsky, Age 52, Finds His Inspiration
John Barton
A Symptom of Resignation
The Gee Whiz Element of Tropical Storms and Symphonies
Jen Karetnick
Communion of Tongues
Hege A. Jakobsen Lepri
Another Vision
Patricia Nelson
Six Gray Moons on a Screen
Eleanor Kedney
Like the best myths
Medusozoa
Sarah Lyons-Lin
A Twohanded Cut
The Tornado Cut
The Pandora Cut
Torben Robertson
Family Dinner
In Which I Re-name My Father
Poem Containing Only Words I Hate
griffin epstein
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Nachos
Jessica Covil
she is in the kitchen now
Nora Pace
sold separately Lesley Battler
Stem of Old French Creistre, To Grow
Of Stinging Nettle
Page Hill Starzinger
blue light
Stephanie Yue Duhem
There Is No Substitute for Good Planning
Erin Kirsh
Supermarket Lobsters
Robbie Gamble
Breathturning Chris Checkwitch
Moon Turned Her Half Face From Me
Lawrence Feuchtwanger
Monologue of a Fly's Shadow
Monologue of a Cow's Shadow
Danielle Hanson
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Nachos
I swear I
love you more than nachos
and my food processor—
combined.
I swear I
love you more than the pork rinds
I sub in for Tostitos,
the gooey blend of cheddar, asadero,
both Jacks.
I swear I
love you more than the ground beef
set to simmer in its own juices
and taco seasoning,
bubbling lightly and so
fragrantly.
I swear I love you more than sour cream,
a dollop of which
goes a long way,
like they always claimed
in those Daisy commercials.
I swear I
love you more than the final touches,
the ones not essential, per se
the diced tomato and sliced avocado
that make me say
oh oh,
I think I’ve found my one.