by Marah McCarty My paradigm shifted to accommodate you.You have been a ghost all this time, never caught, never taunted, filling the pages of anthropology portfolios, flat-field lands of headstones.You give no referendums before your decisions. Yet, no one can enact revenge upon you. There is nothing of yours that…
Poetry Posts
The Sofa
by DS Maolalai working together, all threein tandem, particularwith slow careful movement.we carry it properly,held high from the ground,with the legs at hip-levelto swivel. it’s beena good sofa, I think – many thingshappened here and still,it’s quite comfortable.my first time getting ridof an object which works. my legs nearly go…
Lottery
by Robert Beveridge The dirt hard-packed, the eggs over-easy,the main street as deserted as ever.It’s a quiet place most of the time,more sawgrass than charlatan. Strongcoffee and redeye, and we’re allin between beauticians, eventhe beautician. Hank down the generalsells uniforms out the sideif you know the password, ice creamonly to…
If Ever I Begin to Forget
by Robert Larkin I’ve decided to flowNorth and notReturn The sun risesOver my right shoulderAs the beatingOf hearts and wings slipPast overhead It’s coldAnd quite welcomingNowJust a few moreMiles until ICan rest The hills will remain quietFor some time
Thinking of Poe, With Apologies
by Karen Mandell Morning haze, tea sipped from stolid mug,chocolate quinoa cereal munched steadilylike a barnyard bovine. Paper spread out,an X-Ray. World-sized tumors,broken bones, pockets of healing,pockets of pus. The daily.Then a tapping, a steady beat trudgingruthlessly. Metronome on? Haven’t playedpiano in months, but maybe when dusting,grudging bit of homemaking…Not…
From the Desk Of
by Robert Beveridge sung in the back with the roachesand the expressive montage. takenaway by the men in the black vanwith mickey mouse stapledto the grille. exposed to weakness,decay, and the films of Adam Sandler.delighted with the new, improvednotation for microtonal raga. broiledfor sixteen minutes, or until the boar’shead melts…
Prepared
by Karen Mandell Rose boarded the bus on Oaktonand got off in downtown Evanstonto buy make up at Woolworth’s.She picked up Max Factor and Maybelline’smascara, powder, lipstick in a muted ruby,skipping liner because her eyes,dark brown, round stained saucerswere best left alone. Foundation, a dab of perfume,Martin’s yearly birthday present,…
The Lemon Tree in the Living Room
by Karen Mandell The heavy-duty plastic crackledas I shifted my weight on the couch.Straight ahead, in front of the window,a fake lemon tree pretended to need the sun.A soon to be ex-boyfriend snickeredwhen he saw it. I agreed with himbut hated his condescension. I wasn’t upfor analysis but loved the…
My Trauma Sounds Like
by Marie Soffy Saint Fort Dancing over the edge of a cliff,cliff of a deep, deep oceanon a busy summer day,where surfboards and waves crashing.Peacefully crashing ashoreinto beautiful lullabies in our eardrums.That’s what my trauma sounds like. Sweet howling of the branchesas they move their hips side by side;while their…
New Age Black-awareness
by Quiarah Butler Manga and Anime convention goerthe age of knowledge grows on me and feedsmy soul, my energy, my mind, the part of methat says “this isn’t blackness; this isn’t cool”but in this new age of Black-awareness, it’s growing on me Gothic aesthetics and music shape my foregroundI’m not…