spring 2021
Table of Contents
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Self-Portrait as Used Condom Riding the Wonder Wheel
Melissa Eleftherion
The Year We Considered Foster Care
Sunni Brown Wilkinson
The Deer Who Sneak Into Father's Butchering Shack at Night
L M Schmidt
arma virumque cano
Revelation on Baptist Hill
Libby Maxey
No Fixed Thing Space Follows Adam Day
Pit
Dawn Macdonald
The Guilt of Not Wanting
Ashley Prince
Fits and Starts
Natasha Pepperl
The Retrograde of a Frigid Planet
Self-Portrait as an Internal Dialogue on Rue St-Laurent, 2016
Lauren Turner
White Rhino (Ceratotherium simum)
Coyote (Canis latrans)
Blue Morpho Butterfly (Morpho menelaus)
Jordan Mounteer
Drought
Flash Flood
Samantha Jones
Ghazal With Malbec, No Cigarettes
Oxytocin Pandemic Love Poem
Lisa Richter
Pit
How is a pit both a hole and a stone.
A hard fall.
Under the earth is rock, after all,
and some rocks are bones.
Some rocks make good on the impress of flesh.
I skipped a stone across the pond;
it went six and sank.
Underwater is where lies lie. Full
fathom five and pearl-eyed.
The size
of the stone matters—
best to fit
the hand—Johannes thought
the hand transmits continuous force
to the flung thing, as by magnetism.
(I’m not sure if he knew about magnetism.)
A hand gone back to pocket makes
these bones fly.
A pit is both a hollow and a lump.
It stops worms. There’s one
in your stomach.
It ends in why.