fall 2021
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageWhat We Carry on a Pilgrimage Granada, Take Three Elena Johnson
On the Straightaway to the Rockies Great Grandpa's Grain Elevator A Nova Scotian Night Light Ryan Smith
Late August at the End of the World Bren Simmers
i decay, bro erica hiroko isomura
Between Then and Then Millicent Borges Accardi
latchkey fragments Frances Boyle
Say It Delicious Berry-Picking Laura Cesarco Eglin
The Graveyard Metaphor for Euphoria Kaye Miller
She's a Pretty Bird Susan Zimmerman
No One Knows How to Be Good Emily Kedar
Boy With Orange Phillip Watts Brown
Swans at the Golf Club Ruth Daniell
Upon Watching the Rotation of the Earth Charlotte Vermue Peters
When I See Lake Water Kristin LaFollette
A wrist, a wren, a small knife Ellen Stone
Somewhere within Kostanay, Kazakhstan Justin Timbol
Making the Most of Our Voices Ken Victor
When I See Lake Water
I think of the boy who played music on
our back porch for the entire summer
I think of the photo I snapped—
He was wearing a maroon shirt &
I wore plastic sunglasses
with yellow frames
I once showed that photo to someone
and as her finger hovered over the
smallness of the boy’s face she said
you must be related
and I could hear water flowing
through him, moving over stones &
sand & pieces of fallen tree,
fish jumping and landing
with their eyes silver and wet—
Once, the boy accidentally cracked
an egg on the burner of the stove,
the yellow part bubbling then burning
and turning black like the underparts
of a stream &
in the smokiness of a kitchen, I remember
the first time our father asked him to look
after me instead of the other way around—
Now, when I go looking for the boy,
I always find him in the woods with
the blood shed from his antlers—
Together, we find the tap water,
pass it between us and we
drink & drink—