Catching Fish I got the call at four in the morning. Some kid had got himself drowned in the river. Jed was on his way to the station. I’d have to meet him there. As sleep drifted away my first thought was Mary; I saw her running down the street towards me, felt her arms … Continue reading
If carrots are roots And tomatoes are fruits What’s a vegetable? Kristen Semple and Anthony Santulli enjoy spending their days cowriting haikus and playing with Kristen’s cat. This is their first publication.
Dream in Memory —for Joseph Cornell It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the rain, since I’ve seen wet asphalt. I was holed up in the attic, reading the Russian classics. I see an old crate and think it could be a home for a mouse or doll, but pass on, aware of my … Continue reading
On the coldest night of this year, Ruth Foley graced the crowd at Jenn’s poetry open mic night at Crackskulls Coffee & Books in Newmarket, NH with these three, and many other, beautiful poems. Ruth Foley’s poems appear online at places like Sweet, Umbrella, and Redheaded Stepchild and in print journals such as RATTLE, The … Continue reading
From The Prodigal Martin knows nothing. His continued existence is accountable to a combination of incredible luck and not yet fucking up in an unforgivably bad way. On record, he has attempted suicide twice. The first incident came shortly after the move, before Martin had been diagnosed with any kind of depression, before that word … Continue reading
Mischief Night I’m in line to rent a movie at the local Redbox kiosk when the father behind me yells at the one in front of me, sandwiching me right in the middle of their gerontocratic argument. “I don’t have all day, jackass. I have a family here.” He might as well be patient. Hundreds … Continue reading
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯ Shane Ernest lives in Eureka, CA.
Joshua Tree, California The disk of the galaxy runs diagonal to the ranch road And so slowly that I can barely stand to listen, the stars call me cousin They say I’m like the motel on the hill that overlooks the desert and the mountains but whose rooms all face the pool The stars call … Continue reading
From The Letters and Found Poems of Edisa and Chloea Doesn’t life grow strangely devious? My hands now bear scars from wounds not recalled. Even a smile reaches for proof too often. There is innocence, an uncannycandle to show the album. Did we live through another? That fog-bound island we ate periwinkles our first day? … Continue reading
This Is Power The wave in front of me ascends to regency like a tongue poised to lick the sky. The crest, decidedly paramount, becomes too heavy with weight, and dives ahead. An advancing wall of water suddenly crumbles and shatters into piles of white glass. The avalanche of foam races to meet me, but … Continue reading