spring 2020
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageMoon Turned Her Half Face From Me Lawrence Feuchtwanger
Six Gray Moons on a Screen Eleanor Kedney
Stem of Old French Creistre, To Grow Of Stinging Nettle Page Hill Starzinger
Another Vision Patricia Nelson
Supermarket Lobsters Robbie Gamble
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Nachos Jessica Covil
Monologue of a Fly's Shadow Monologue of a Cow's Shadow Danielle Hanson
Like the best myths Medusozoa Sarah Lyons-Lin
Humid Weather Me of Me Catherine Strisik
A Symptom of Resignation The Gee Whiz Element of Tropical Storms and Symphonies Jen Karetnick
Communion of Tongues Hege A. Jakobsen Lepri
Breathturning Chris Checkwitch
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
A Twohanded Cut The Tornado Cut The Pandora Cut Torben Robertson
There Is No Substitute for Good Planning Erin Kirsh
sold separately Lesley Battler
blue light Stephanie Yue Duhem
Tchaikovsky, Age 52, Finds His Inspiration John Barton
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Nachos
I swear I
love you more than nachos
and my food processor—
combined.
I swear I
love you more than the pork rinds
I sub in for Tostitos,
the gooey blend of cheddar, asadero,
both Jacks.
I swear I
love you more than the ground beef
set to simmer in its own juices
and taco seasoning,
bubbling lightly and so
fragrantly.
I swear I love you more than sour cream,
a dollop of which
goes a long way,
like they always claimed
in those Daisy commercials.
I swear I
love you more than the final touches,
the ones not essential, per se
the diced tomato and sliced avocado
that make me say
oh oh,
I think I’ve found my one.