fall 2015
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageThe Story of Chitin Giri Zoe Dagneault
A Fire Hydrant on Camino de la Amapola
Good to See You
Eleanor Kedney
In the Cyberspace Icicle Changming Yuan
The Stale Cold Smell of Morning
Angela Rebrec
Girl I
Girl II
Carolyn Supinka
Saturday Night
Charles Springer
Fault Vodka / Blame Juice Jamie Sharpe
Why, And for What Purpose
Is There Something
Ace Bogess
Yellow Flowers
The World Dream
Ann Filemyr
Darkening Over Still Water Richard King Perkins II
revenge/reincarnation annie ross
(Ouverture) Garry Thomas Morse
Word on the Street
Henry Rappaport
Alcohol
Fast-slow Continuum
Peycho Kanev
The Day Everyone Realized Ron Riekki
Brains Lost to the Earth Melissa Nelson
Can't Stomach Mitchell Grabois
what do you talk about
desire derives pleasure
aren't we missing every thing
gary lundy
a rose is a rose is a rose manhattan Nikki Reimer
the neighbors knew i divined water
Hell is hot
Allison DeLauer
QED A Moth In Rain Christopher Patton
The Insidious Susurration
A Conversation
Marie-Andree Auclair
A Monday The Devil Valentina Cano
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.