fall 2021
Table of Contents
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On the Straightaway to the Rockies
Great Grandpa's Grain Elevator
A Nova Scotian Night Light
Ryan Smith
When I See Lake Water
Kristin LaFollette
Late August at the End of the World
Bren Simmers
A wrist, a wren, a small knife
Ellen Stone
The Graveyard Metaphor for Euphoria Kaye Miller
No One Knows How to Be Good
Emily Kedar
Upon Watching the Rotation of the Earth
Charlotte Vermue Peters
latchkey fragments
Frances Boyle
i decay, bro
erica hiroko isomura
She's a Pretty Bird
Susan Zimmerman
Say It Delicious
Berry-Picking
Laura Cesarco Eglin
Somewhere within Kostanay, Kazakhstan Justin Timbol
Between Then and Then
Millicent Borges Accardi
What We Carry on a Pilgrimage
Granada, Take Three
Elena Johnson
Boy With Orange
Phillip Watts Brown
Swans at the Golf Club
Ruth Daniell
Making the Most of Our Voices
Ken Victor
When I See Lake Water
I think of the boy who played music on
our back porch for the entire summer
I think of the photo I snapped—
He was wearing a maroon shirt &
I wore plastic sunglasses
with yellow frames
I once showed that photo to someone
and as her finger hovered over the
smallness of the boy’s face she said
you must be related
and I could hear water flowing
through him, moving over stones &
sand & pieces of fallen tree,
fish jumping and landing
with their eyes silver and wet—
Once, the boy accidentally cracked
an egg on the burner of the stove,
the yellow part bubbling then burning
and turning black like the underparts
of a stream &
in the smokiness of a kitchen, I remember
the first time our father asked him to look
after me instead of the other way around—
Now, when I go looking for the boy,
I always find him in the woods with
the blood shed from his antlers—
Together, we find the tap water,
pass it between us and we
drink & drink—