spring 2020
Table of Contents
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she is in the kitchen now
Nora Pace
blue light
Stephanie Yue Duhem
Moon Turned Her Half Face From Me
Lawrence Feuchtwanger
There Is No Substitute for Good Planning
Erin Kirsh
Family Dinner
In Which I Re-name My Father
Poem Containing Only Words I Hate
griffin epstein
A Twohanded Cut
The Tornado Cut
The Pandora Cut
Torben Robertson
Like the best myths
Medusozoa
Sarah Lyons-Lin
Humid Weather
Me of Me
Catherine Strisik
Six Gray Moons on a Screen
Eleanor Kedney
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Nachos
Jessica Covil
sold separately Lesley Battler
Supermarket Lobsters
Robbie Gamble
A Symptom of Resignation
The Gee Whiz Element of Tropical Storms and Symphonies
Jen Karetnick
Communion of Tongues
Hege A. Jakobsen Lepri
Stem of Old French Creistre, To Grow
Of Stinging Nettle
Page Hill Starzinger
Monologue of a Fly's Shadow
Monologue of a Cow's Shadow
Danielle Hanson
Another Vision
Patricia Nelson
Tchaikovsky, Age 52, Finds His Inspiration
John Barton
Breathturning Chris Checkwitch
Like the best myths
this one has two tellings.
For Sophocles: A looped rope closes in, scavenging. Pressure snakes under the jaw. Shining moon of Jupiter, uterine beast—her body mutilated by its own hands. Scratches flowering the neck. Eyes still open heaven-wide, her head snap-stem crooked. Hung, her shape is a woman, then a mother, then a witch.
For Euripides: The woman turns to magic, transforms her guilt into an array of bright fabric. Endures. Renames herself blame. Endures that defiling love, that husband-child, and follows him still—into isolation, into the wild, into bondage and a hollowed version of herself.
Both are the story of men.