fall 2021
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageA wrist, a wren, a small knife Ellen Stone
What We Carry on a Pilgrimage Granada, Take Three Elena Johnson
latchkey fragments Frances Boyle
The Graveyard Metaphor for Euphoria Kaye Miller
Say It Delicious Berry-Picking Laura Cesarco Eglin
When I See Lake Water Kristin LaFollette
Swans at the Golf Club Ruth Daniell
Somewhere within Kostanay, Kazakhstan Justin Timbol
On the Straightaway to the Rockies Great Grandpa's Grain Elevator A Nova Scotian Night Light Ryan Smith
Upon Watching the Rotation of the Earth Charlotte Vermue Peters
No One Knows How to Be Good Emily Kedar
Late August at the End of the World Bren Simmers
Between Then and Then Millicent Borges Accardi
Making the Most of Our Voices Ken Victor
She's a Pretty Bird Susan Zimmerman
Boy With Orange Phillip Watts Brown
i decay, bro erica hiroko isomura
The Graveyard Metaphor for Euphoria
Minding the daffodils,
we walk our bikes through the cemetery.
A bright April day and the year unfolding
cherry petals, midday sun, origami of leaves.
Since your surgery, we’ve been walking a lot—
we take any chance to slow.
A granite angel drapes herself over a stone
chiseled with your former name, but for the first time,
you don’t imagine yourself in that grave.
And I don’t turn you away.
The bike handles cool in my palms,
the sun on your back,
and your shirt lays flat on your chest.
I love how firmly you hug me, now.
We used to stare down the barrel of your past life,
but not anymore.
Because of bright air
and the daffodils,
we roll our bikes down to the beach—
the sea just sparkling, the sky just blue.