spring 2018
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageGrim Reaper in Therapy Brandon Marlon
First Ultrasound Second Ultrasound Stephanie Yorke
drowning man is not a superhero Aidan Chafe
Sea Room / The Adrift Exhibit / Queer Lynx Joseph Spece
Push Armamentarium Adrienne Gruber
Trump As a Fire Without Light #665 Darren C. Demaree
Wet Parable Duck Carver Nathan Curnow
Naming Cow Field Danielle Hanson
Synonyms For Shelter Jill Talbot
Never the Desired Absence Nick Alti
Dear Chepe Wilbur Melissa Weiss
The Path Discoverer Taylor Bond
an understanding Natasha Zarin
Cracked Fabergé Egg Of Yes Lauren Turner
Ice Skating in Holland Carol Hamilton
He Ring Liar's Dice Confluence Derek Thomas Dew
Like André Derain David R. Dixon
Liar’s Dice
My hands are under the roots under the trees, and the trees are under the lake.
Walter, the flood, made me swear not to snitch on him if my mom found the magazine.
And animals and rope burn are one animal. Face redder in each bee-dipped finger.
I am digging into the dam with my bare hands. I get a letter for the guy here before me.
When they blow the dam, will the river meet the sea? The river stays apart from the sea.
I am not a bobtail. Walter gave me a name with no sound. I am elbow-deep in the dam.
My aperture: he said he’d make a diamond of my magazine-crowded mouth.
As chosen as a photo, as familiar to a harbor as a neighbor with no shoes.
Walter lost a calf playing liar’s dice.
It was sand in the dam. Sand that trapped my fingers. Sand that traced the equator.