fall 2019
Table of Contents
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Women of Trachis
Savannah Pulfer
Inherited Water View
Looking at My Hand I See Her
Robert Carr
Dear Jennifer,
Bridget Gage-Dixon
The ice was coming nicely
Matthew Schmidt
Ladybug, Ladybug
Cristalle Smith
Not really a father,
John Sibley Williams
{steeple-chase}
{grave-tending}
{declining dessert}
David Morgan O'Connor
Cherry Orchard Isabelle Ortner
Border Song: Within the Paper Spiral of Wasps
Janet Youngdahl
Concurrent Incidents
I Flip a Coin and My Life Becomes Her
Jaimie Gusman
Powered By English
Y Pronounced EE
Meredith Quartermain
Dark Night Full of Stars
After Trout in Siskiyou County
Bruce Robinson
Glory and the Neighbors
Untidy Ending
Lauren Camp
Wife Lessons
Jody Burke-Kaiser
reflex 800possessedmoments Edward Wells
Now She's Going to Get It
Marjorie Silverman
Invocation
I hold your ashes in my hand
Angeline Schellenberg
Visionary
Nebraska
Katie Berger
Not really a father,
what we want is something to slip our cold hands into.
Like a woolen mitten. Like the earth. Like the recently killed
when the rest of the deer have long gone stiff. We’re really asking
for something to believe in we can’t disprove, prove or answer back to. Like
the time it takes a star to burst. Like the distance light travels to find us here
already lit. What my mother meant to say in saying there is a light that hurts
no matter how long you’ve looked for it, prayed it near,
is anyone’s guess, though in that late & last hour, when her skin felt like
the insides of a fish & her words curled up at the ends into questions, I took her to
mean son, not all your sufferings require nails.