spring 2020
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Tchaikovsky, Age 52, Finds His Inspiration
John Barton
Family Dinner
In Which I Re-name My Father
Poem Containing Only Words I Hate
griffin epstein
she is in the kitchen now
Nora Pace
Supermarket Lobsters
Robbie Gamble
A Symptom of Resignation
The Gee Whiz Element of Tropical Storms and Symphonies
Jen Karetnick
blue light
Stephanie Yue Duhem
Another Vision
Patricia Nelson
There Is No Substitute for Good Planning
Erin Kirsh
sold separately Lesley Battler
Stem of Old French Creistre, To Grow
Of Stinging Nettle
Page Hill Starzinger
A Twohanded Cut
The Tornado Cut
The Pandora Cut
Torben Robertson
Communion of Tongues
Hege A. Jakobsen Lepri
Humid Weather
Me of Me
Catherine Strisik
Six Gray Moons on a Screen
Eleanor Kedney
Breathturning Chris Checkwitch
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Nachos
Jessica Covil
Like the best myths
Medusozoa
Sarah Lyons-Lin
Monologue of a Fly's Shadow
Monologue of a Cow's Shadow
Danielle Hanson
Moon Turned Her Half Face From Me
Lawrence Feuchtwanger
Another Vision
It’s a different place without the fever dream:
The salvation slow and awkward, the sinners
loud and heavy, hauled out of the dark
like buckets, banging on the rocks.
The haulers complain, swinging the blackness
of their mouths, their eyes that glitter
weakly like broken stems or spigots.
The stars roll like wreckage.
In this paradise the stiff, cold blossoms
twist like knuckles over the undulant tasks.
The monster in the shadow doesn’t run or growl
or poke your hiding places with its fingers.
Instead it has a tall, blue eye that counts
and loves, but only as is due,
showing you the hardness of the truth.
And it speaks to certain devils in Hell:
The ones as curious as gerbils,
who scamper lightly over the damned,
touching their intentions,
leaving a dread as soft as hands.