Our Winter 2022 issue invites you to look at the not so see-able and perhaps even to learn to seek out what cannot — normally — be perceived. Appropriately, this issue contains invisible babies, lunar seashells, unnoticed birds, unspoken tensions between families, paternal scars, and wondrous insects. What marvels lurk in laundromats and along the byways of the everyday? How do we — in this age of very real limits — quest for and discover the magical and the miraculous?Continue reading...
Issue Thirty-Nine – Winter 2022
By Stephanie Barbé Hammer
By John Brantingham
You and your wife are driving across Canada, along a lake you don’t know the name of with the windows down just as the sky is twilighting in the warm early autumn when you hear a bird crying. Your wife says “Pull over,” and you do. From here, you can see the wind setting up a rippling across the water, and you start to speak, but she places a palm on your chest and says, “Wait, I’ve heard this before.”Continue reading...
By Jordana Jacobs
There was a stretcher waiting for me, the freakin’ brake already disengaged, I’m sure. The OB hovered over me, practically breathing up my vulva, sharpening his cesarean scalpel. The baby’s blood pressure was falling. No longer Mrs. Nice-Guy, the midwife blocked him with her hippy little body, yelling, “Push!” in my face. I looked at my husband. He was texting. The spirit to push swirled out of my body like the soul of a heaven-bound cartoon character.Continue reading...
Not a Sin
By Jan B. Parker
He turned his back to her, not in a mean way, but a natural one, because the machine beeped and he loved his coffee fresh-brewed. He loved his wife, too, but on days when she woke up cranky, and he reckoned she wanted to take it out on him—whatever it was—he put into use what he’d learned over the many years: it often pays to be a little deaf.Continue reading...
The Shells on the Moon
By Mary Anne Perez
The latest real astronauts found a collection of sea shells on the moon’s surface. They didn’t have to dig far. It was near the place where the first lunar landing was and they were gathered in a way that signaled a greeting or a gift and the astronauts wondered if the first astronauts had somehow missed this collection or if the shells had found their way to this place after that momentous visit all those years ago.Continue reading...
The Slice of Learning Between Them
By Leonie Mikele Fogle
(Two humans sit on rubble, paddles propped up beside them. A carries a newspaper and a paper sack with a few bits of food. B carries a backpack. Overpass above. Water all around.)
A. Let’s peel the egg, shall we? We’ve a little salt.
B. Crocodiles float by. Rotting carcasses.Continue reading...
Moonrise Over the Fluff ‘N’ Fold
By Aruni Wijesinghe
It’s eleven-thirty on a Tuesday night. Beth and I lift clothes out of an industrial washing machine. The wet jeans are heavy, but they feel cool against our forearms in the hot laundromat. I feel something round and foreign in the back pocket of my cutoff Levi’s. I fish a sand dollar out of the dripping denim, hold it up against the fluorescent light of the Fluff ‘N’ Fold. A palm-sized moon.Continue reading...
The Bard of Frogtown: A Play in One Act
By Allison Whittenberg
One bedroom apartment in downtown St. Paul, Minnesota.
MELVIN, 19, a part-time poet/ part-time window washer. He is wiry in build with mid-length dreads.
DEBRA, 25, homemaker/songwriter. She is slightly heavy set with unruly artist’s hair. This part requires singing and some guitar playing.
RICE STREET MAN, 22, looks haggard and worn. He has been dead for eight years, therefore, he is a ghost figure, functioning more for the audience than to interact with the cast.
(Curtain rises with MELVIN scratching away in a notebook. A kitchen table serving as his desk. He goes through a series of scribbling and scratch outs.)Continue reading...
There’s a Hole in the Fabric
By Rose Mary Boehm
woven from threads of laughter
The cloth has worn thin in places,
age, pressure and loss the culprits.
The moths of despair fed
on the weave of fellowship.
The Best Laid Plans
By John Delaney
Somewhere between ‘oh, no’ and ‘oh, well’
the verdict falls: you won’t have any kids.
I watched a show on endangered penguins
that yearly breed in a South African town
Above Your Station
By Mercedes Lawry
Forget the trick of shading your eyes,
giving a half-whistle over your shoulder,
tilting your head a few inches to the left.
You will not be mentioned, not among
the fat and groaning with jewels,
The Dogs of War
By Christopher Nye
The dogs of war sniff at our heels.
And every canine fang craves meat.
The bell of forgiveness rarely peels.
Streams run red. There’s nothing to eat.
Poems Out of Music
By Christopher Nye
I see you darn the autumn air
at the lake’s edge,
back and forth,
back and forth,
as if the fabric of sunlight
By Anne Whitehouse
My parents were rarely on the same wavelength.
Most of the time they talked at each other,
not to each other. But here they are,
by a quirk of the Hebrew calendar,
By Morgan Songi
in the middle of the rotating stars
strange sounds a fog falling past you
Hannah is heard crying out for her baby
when it snows no snow touches his grave
Moon Saw It All
By Cassie Premo Steele
Waning moon bright outside my window knows more about the earth than we do. She has seen it all, the caves, the plains, the meadows, the fish, the lizard, the leap to trees and air. The ocean keeping her own company without needing visitors from dry land. The ships. The bounty. The lack of mercy. The fire, the chains, the bullets. Losses and gains. Leavings. Settling.Continue reading...
Early Seral Stage
By Carey Taylor
We rode together, you and I down that blanketed coastal road.
Port Orford to Bandon and back again. Me, at the front
of the bus to not get queasy. You, inside the ocean
of my belly. In the beginning, we knew nothing of charred ground.
What came before. What would come after. But after
A Choice Moment
By Nancy Wick
By Nancy Wick This is the sort of thing that happens to a teenager, I think, as I sit in the newsroom, the phone to my ear. Calling my therapist from work is a first for me. Desperation strangles my voice and cinches my shoulders tight. I speak quietly even though the newsroom is practically […]Continue reading...
Variations on a Theme
By Cati Porter
“Think I just heard another FUCK YOU PORTER,” I text my husband upstairs.
It is early, unlike most of the other times we’ve heard them. I fiddle with the undone ribbon on the waistband of my pajama bottoms, sip the too-hot-for-this-90-degrees-before-ten-a.m.-crap coffee. The soundtrack is a steady stop and start of morning traffic, but the words rise up over the misery song of our busy-at-all-hours avenueContinue reading...
By Lisa Friedlander
When I first woke, the barely lit morning made it possible to open my eyes without sunglasses. Squinting first with only my left eye open, and then with only my right, I saw the pile of clean white T-shirts on the writing desk across the room. They looked alternately warm-white, then cool, warm and then cool. My vacillating experience of whiteness blindsided me, as if there existed some true whiteness about which I had either been, or found myself now, deluded.Continue reading...
Three from Rich Ives
By Rich Ives
Largest of the white grubs, Captain Pink has a stout body. Someday, he will be chocolate brown and feed at night on trees and shrubs.
If I eat without looking, I taste heaven or surrender.
The window of a footprint doesn’t allow returning. Follow what you see.Continue reading...
By Julianne Paholski
An old boyfriend came courting. I was standing in Grandma’s breezeway, looking out over the yard, and he came walking down the side street from the cemetery. Everything was still and overcast, humid, as if there might be a storm.
He looked as I remembered, the one time I’ve seen him since high school: middle-aged heaviness, hair long and curly. He was wearing weird round little glasses, as if trying to resemble James Joyce.Continue reading...
Does God Cry?
By Jack Smith
“What do you and Younger Son have planned?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
Father’s raised fist was poised to eliminate Mother’s look of contempt. He paused and for a moment Mother hoped that he would see himself clearly, as he had a few times before; lower his fist, go into the house, take a six pack out of the propane powered fridge, take down his fly rod and go to the river leaving Mother wondering what would happen in the future to recreate this tableau and wishing Older Son would return from a gathering of The Brotherhood.Continue reading...
By Paul Ilechko
Grouped by candle flame into specific
tableaux as lightning breaks the sky
a glass of vin blanc and the memory of
Athens a church atop a hill an old
By Alison Engle
The Jones Family Reunion, Inc.
By Roger Collins
CAST (w/ brief backgrounds*)
SYMONE EDWARDS: Middle-aged adult, married to Henry Jones (not in attendance); one of their adult daughters (also not in attendance) is a vegan.
DEREK JONES: Young adult, single, Quentin’s young cousin. Intra-generational competitor with ROSE.
QUENTIN JONES: Senior adult, Derek’s older cousin (married with adult children not in attendance.)Continue reading...