fall 2021
Table of Contents
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A wrist, a wren, a small knife
Ellen Stone
Making the Most of Our Voices
Ken Victor
No One Knows How to Be Good
Emily Kedar
Swans at the Golf Club
Ruth Daniell
Somewhere within Kostanay, Kazakhstan Justin Timbol
Between Then and Then
Millicent Borges Accardi
What We Carry on a Pilgrimage
Granada, Take Three
Elena Johnson
Late August at the End of the World
Bren Simmers
The Graveyard Metaphor for Euphoria Kaye Miller
Upon Watching the Rotation of the Earth
Charlotte Vermue Peters
When I See Lake Water
Kristin LaFollette
Say It Delicious
Berry-Picking
Laura Cesarco Eglin
i decay, bro
erica hiroko isomura
She's a Pretty Bird
Susan Zimmerman
On the Straightaway to the Rockies
Great Grandpa's Grain Elevator
A Nova Scotian Night Light
Ryan Smith
latchkey fragments
Frances Boyle
Boy With Orange
Phillip Watts Brown
Say It Delicious
I’ve assigned magic to oranges
the belief that anything can be
improved with its juice or rind
conviction is
not the same as stubbornness
stab the cake—make sure to do it
straight out of the oven
straight out of the blade of
a knife that doesn’t stop
until it’s hinted at pieces
then pour
generously
what flows circulates better
than what you measure
learn
leaving
involves learning
to walk more than once
and there you have it:
I’m still trying to convince
myself that marmalade tastes
better than jam
it’s the orange I miss
when I don’t recognize it
what a few extra syllables can do
to taste buds: marmalade
this is what potions are made of
concentrate
what’s hidden
behind our focus: drops go
farther than the whole
the orange is as round as I can begin
and then include more
even if I want to do it
the secret can’t be dismantled
completely—
there’s always more orange
in what’s discarded there’s
what was left
unsaid