spring 2018
Table of Contents
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Push
Armamentarium
Adrienne Gruber
an understanding
Natasha Zarin
He Ring Liar's Dice Confluence Derek Thomas Dew
Like André Derain
David R. Dixon
Naming
Cow Field
Danielle Hanson
Ice Skating in Holland Carol Hamilton
drowning man is not a superhero
Aidan Chafe
Sea Room / The Adrift
Exhibit / Queer
Lynx
Joseph Spece
Cracked Fabergé Egg Of Yes
Lauren Turner
First Ultrasound
Second Ultrasound
Stephanie Yorke
Grim Reaper in Therapy
Brandon Marlon
Wet Parable
Duck
Carver
Nathan Curnow
Never the Desired Absence
Nick Alti
Dear Chepe
Wilbur
Melissa Weiss
Synonyms For Shelter
Jill Talbot
The Path Discoverer
Taylor Bond
Trump As a Fire Without Light #665
Darren C. Demaree
Confluence
A dusty grand piano falls out a two-story window into a water fountain below.
My father threw orange peels at coyotes in the dusk.
Red rocks. Mast passes slow behind shafts of river cane.
Walter, the first time you scratched my shoulder is in the desert.
Where the rock swallows the river, viscacha meat.
A chimney for the first time. Letters in erupting kilns.
The man walking the valley knows the pickaxe nightpale music.
They fought Apache for that hill so we could live and perfume the doorways.
They probably don’t have a word for piano in their language anyway.
Little orange peels are not meteors. They dry like armies into hymns.