spring 2021
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageNo Fixed Thing Space Follows Adam Day
arma virumque cano Revelation on Baptist Hill Libby Maxey
The Retrograde of a Frigid Planet Self-Portrait as an Internal Dialogue on Rue St-Laurent, 2016 Lauren Turner
The Guilt of Not Wanting Ashley Prince
White Rhino (Ceratotherium simum) Coyote (Canis latrans) Blue Morpho Butterfly (Morpho menelaus) Jordan Mounteer
Fits and Starts Natasha Pepperl
Drought Flash Flood Samantha Jones
Ghazal With Malbec, No Cigarettes Oxytocin Pandemic Love Poem Lisa Richter
The Deer Who Sneak Into Father's Butchering Shack at Night L M Schmidt
Self-Portrait as Used Condom Riding the Wonder Wheel Melissa Eleftherion
Pit Dawn Macdonald
The Year We Considered Foster Care Sunni Brown Wilkinson
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.