fall 2015
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageQED A Moth In Rain Christopher Patton
Word on the Street Henry Rappaport
Can't Stomach Mitchell Grabois
The Stale Cold Smell of Morning Angela Rebrec
a rose is a rose is a rose manhattan Nikki Reimer
Yellow Flowers The World Dream Ann Filemyr
The Day Everyone Realized Ron Riekki
The Story of Chitin Giri Zoe Dagneault
Darkening Over Still Water Richard King Perkins II
what do you talk about desire derives pleasure aren't we missing every thing gary lundy
revenge/reincarnation annie ross
Alcohol Fast-slow Continuum Peycho Kanev
Fault Vodka / Blame Juice Jamie Sharpe
Brains Lost to the Earth Melissa Nelson
A Monday The Devil Valentina Cano
Saturday Night Charles Springer
In the Cyberspace Icicle Changming Yuan
Girl I Girl II Carolyn Supinka
Why, And for What Purpose Is There Something Ace Bogess
A Fire Hydrant on Camino de la Amapola Good to See You Eleanor Kedney
the neighbors knew i divined water Hell is hot Allison DeLauer
(Ouverture) Garry Thomas Morse
The Insidious Susurration A Conversation Marie-Andree Auclair
The Stale Cold Smell of Morning
after Memory from Cats the musical
.The morning conversation you shared with the bathroom mirror
had ‘relapse’ all over it.
At first you didn’t have a name—only people who named you.
Then there was waiting.
In a stroke of pure genius, God invented musical theatre
soon after isolating light from darkness.
You insinuate ‘relapse’ but no one hears the in-between conversation.
Your copy of the manuscript with penciled-in notes in the margin
suggests a change to the cast in Act III Scene 3
Who let you backstage alone in no moonlight?
God chewed on some popcorn, hummed the melody from Cats.
A tear welled in one eye.
Names you never chose for yourself follow you
like a tune stuck in your head.
The people who named you follow you
in your head like a stuck tune.
‘Relapse’ is just another word for repeat again and again
until you get it right.
Darkness waits as a stack of manuscripts in the green room.
You practiced backstage as the evening rained.
Your name—a melancholy ballad—hung beside the theatre spotlights.
God’s blue eye in the morning.
Then there was waiting:
finally the people who named you found you.
You get it right.