W. Todd Kaneko I watch my father crawlon the ceiling tonight, moving like a bat in the stalactites, a wishin the form of a man clingingto the plaster. I watch someoneelse’s father slither up the...
W. Todd Kaneko Art by Herlinde Spahr We will walk down to the beachwhere it’s always night, where the fish open themselvesand lay their guts across the stones, the fish we caught on the lineand the...
John Dudek It’s true you didn’t do this, didn’t breed in the long limb and overbuilt joints that deny the hardwood any give, that fold the dog like a yarn swift. It was built not for comfort...
Luciana Arbus-Scandiffio With my dress made of picnic blankets I set out for the tundra. I put on my clogs,my suit of gathered hairs. The coins collect in the crags outside and I collect...
Carolyn Oliver And the world’s the same, lessa few smashed tulips.The melting comes beforethe hyacinths I cut yesterdaybell open.The fleshiness of the flowers!As if they relish the endthe stems...
John McKernan I sometimes go to sleepWith a white umbrellaSuspended above meIts black spotlightOf shadows blanketingWhat must be calledMy Body Who needs a home?What cries for a roof? ...
John McCarthy I went to church by myself the other day after having given up on God. I swear the light falling through the stained glasslooked like your initials—it even sounded like...
David O’Connell The way bright tulips launch themselves from bulbs and nearly hyperventilate each spring. And how the fair-bound pumpkin swells like some past king announcing gross...
James Miller The priest satnext to meon the planeto Rapid City. He was suffering.Flushed cheeks, clenchedjowls. His ziplocked icehad mostly meltedby the timewe leftthe tarmac. Still,he heldthat...
Sneha Subramanian Kanta Every journey is a prayer. A pelagic traditionfor the traveler. The wing-field inside a cloud. Ghosts paddle in sphagnum. Fire between sunand hill. Grasslands in the afterglow...
