fall 2021
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i decay, bro
erica hiroko isomura
Boy With Orange
Phillip Watts Brown
Say It Delicious
Berry-Picking
Laura Cesarco Eglin
No One Knows How to Be Good
Emily Kedar
Making the Most of Our Voices
Ken Victor
When I See Lake Water
Kristin LaFollette
A wrist, a wren, a small knife
Ellen Stone
Late August at the End of the World
Bren Simmers
Between Then and Then
Millicent Borges Accardi
The Graveyard Metaphor for Euphoria Kaye Miller
Somewhere within Kostanay, Kazakhstan Justin Timbol
Swans at the Golf Club
Ruth Daniell
latchkey fragments
Frances Boyle
Upon Watching the Rotation of the Earth
Charlotte Vermue Peters
She's a Pretty Bird
Susan Zimmerman
What We Carry on a Pilgrimage
Granada, Take Three
Elena Johnson
On the Straightaway to the Rockies
Great Grandpa's Grain Elevator
A Nova Scotian Night Light
Ryan Smith
Between Then and Then
I was dreaming of falling
houses and saying obscene
things to one another, like
the issue at heart, it was
infidelity. The closed
palms saying amen.
The praying, or the lack of doing so.
There was a great noise
between us that talking could not
mend. We lived poor, neglected
lives, suffering through a lack
of owning our own five senses
with not enough wisdom
to know the on-putting scent
of a trail of the path before us.
Being fresh as the air after a rain.
In a tumult, we were facing
our own demons
and getting into a discussion
that was never quite
at the bottom of what was at hand.
Putting our fingers on a word we
both knew but could not drum
up in a pinch. We were seeking
like things. What letter did it
start with, sweet, we inquired?
Was it a “P” or an “S”?
Out of the corner of my eye,
more or less, I saw a temper,
a blow up storm arriving like a sea
boiling as water does in a flat pot,
on the level, rolling steady, and at once,
I remember your saying this.