Issue Twenty One

Bird Poem

xThis morning I chased the chickens through the neighbor’s yard and into the apartment complex wearing only my underwear and a hot pink t-shirt. I tucked them beneath my arms, calling them dear heart, sweetling, birdie. xI have called my son Bird since he was born....

The outsider

2016 Sometimes, in this town, I come across a cardigan tied to a traffic light, or a children’s glove slid onto the spike of the fence. A kind person has picked up the lost item and displayed it in this way for its owner to find. Since moving to this new country, I...

Breathing the Ghost

Rebecca Mathias died in second grade. We called her Becky. She had a brain tumor. Our teacher asked if it was ok if Becky sat next to me on the bus on a field trip. Becky laughed too hard—too loud—and she had a runny nose, and she wore leg braces, and she had a rubber...

Blue

Had you been planning it for days? Weeks? Were you waiting for the night when your mom was out visiting Grandma? Why did you not wait for me to sleep? Did you expect me to stop you, find you? Should I have been concerned when you walked down the stairs that night?...

For Molly Young

Listen, when it becomes harder to tell a man that you snore than where to put his dick, when you scroll past the dick pic to scrutinize the baseboards for dirty laundry and dust buffalos, to confirm if there is artwork or photography on the walls, to see if there are...

Orange/Door Hinge

Beneath the Surface Brad digs the hole a bit larger than the length and width his body (six-ish feet deep).  His dog watches from the window, the pane fogging, then clearing, fogging then clearing… Brad puts a ladder in the hole and climbs down, lies face up...

He Was a C Scale Descending

He was a C scale descending. An early Beatles song: sunbeams and summer rain and handholding. I was all minor cords straying from middle C. He was glacier blue, electric blue, sapphire, peacock, indigo too. I was Blue Nun blue, that sticky sweet teen wine, tipped back...

My Last Night in California

A couple of questions. Can memories be captured in shabby snow-globes? Are redistricting initiatives aligned with the dysfunction of certain honey strains? Alfalfa. Buckwheat. Clover. You aren’t sure which direction to go, or how best to influence the direction in...

Electric Friends

The Jesus picture hangs above the TV cabinet, lit up with a tiny bulb tucked inside the frame. There’s a faux marble fountain right there in Grandma’s front parlor, and a naked cherub squirts a trickle of water into a giant bowl that looks like a baptismal font....

Ximi

Jungle everywhere, bugs everywhere, heat everywhere. Tired horses lower their heads and sheathe their ears to squeeze through the branches, resin coating their sides. Ximi clicks for them to stop and slips to the ground. One of the horses neighs for the dark barn that...

Pin It on Pinterest