fall 2019
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageCherry Orchard Isabelle Ortner
{steeple-chase} {grave-tending} {declining dessert} David Morgan O'Connor
Invocation I hold your ashes in my hand Angeline Schellenberg
Now She's Going to Get It Marjorie Silverman
Wife Lessons Jody Burke-Kaiser
Inherited Water View Looking at My Hand I See Her Robert Carr
Glory and the Neighbors Untidy Ending Lauren Camp
Dark Night Full of Stars After Trout in Siskiyou County Bruce Robinson
Powered By English Y Pronounced EE Meredith Quartermain
The ice was coming nicely Matthew Schmidt
Concurrent Incidents I Flip a Coin and My Life Becomes Her Jaimie Gusman
Border Song: Within the Paper Spiral of Wasps Janet Youngdahl
Dear Jennifer, Bridget Gage-Dixon
reflex 800possessedmoments Edward Wells
Women of Trachis Savannah Pulfer
Not really a father, John Sibley Williams
Visionary Nebraska Katie Berger
Ladybug, Ladybug Cristalle Smith
Looking at My Hand I See Her
It’s become something new—
I guess the hand is mine.
Skin, the color of too much
sun. Tissue opened, become
an island on the brown.
The distance between tan
and age is only a shade
of mahogany.
Four bones travel
to my wrist as I flex
fingers. A landscape
of blood, traveling
blue over back. (I need
to clip these nails.)
As mom died, she saw
a used-to-be-tight
watch fall from wrist
to elbow. An upturned
corner of her mouth,
eyes wide.
I enjoy my black hairs,
the gold. I am her son,
happy with the men
who want to hold this
beautiful thing.