Helen Edelman
An aesthete since birth seeking urgently an ontic truth, writing eagerly a cipher’d proof Died November 14, 1831 and on the third day rose again. Returned to judge the living and the dead headed west, purlicue outstretched toward Santa Fe, thumb in road. I found Him there, later at my sill flowers bloomed as He kissed each cheek. Planted lips planted seeds. I bought a vial of acid to better understand sublation. He said learn German instead then licked the vial clean It was mid- morning with something hot on the stove the last time we spoke, back deck and semi- supine bodies congruent, spatially maligned when coaxed to the kitchen by boiling water, He left. My friends say Hegel’s bad news anyway.
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Zan Barker-Aderem
The green key lime A gift for me In box of pine Wood finery A snap of tart Then rush of sweet My lips do part Then purse and meet A string of fruit Between my teeth Begins to root And take to leaf Now flesh is tree And fruit is key Garret Lieb
learning how to be Lonely is nothing like the notion of learning how to ride a bike no one wants to do the former the minute you stop being lonely you forget how to do it the entire time you were lonely in the first place you were trying to avoid it all together the only people in the world who want to be lonely probably also hate riding their bikes i think i might be “that kind of person” i find myself less fond of my bike every day Madeline Rose Williams
I didn't mean to buy a vase. I was looking for a bedside table, or lamp, but saw it shining on a shelf. Speckled, bluegreengold. So: I brought it home, thought — perhaps some flowers — and picked a few roses from the yard, clipped their thorns, trimmed the leaves. They rose up out of the glossy urn, perfume/velvet above cool porcelain. A few days later, I went to change the water; shook the stems into my hand. But then -- a sound, a splash, and, slipping into the sink, a silver fish. It beat its fins about until I caught it by the tail — dropped it in the vase, watched it churn the cool dark water. One bright scale flickering between a few floating brown petals. I blinked and blinked. But still, the fish was there Spencer Hoyt
When it rains, it drizzles a handful of minutes. The clouds move inland and pull the hiding sun out, into a break in the evaporation. Puget Sound’s wake swirls rhythmically and catches rays of light, compressing them into miniature white bulbs, shaking like a lagoon of broken glass. More clouds soon smother the newfound illumination and leak plump drops from the ocean into the dulled body of estuarine water. The collection of reflectors expands for the restrained sun’s continuous cycle of liberation. Danielle Pappo
- Hello. It’s great to finally meet you. Thanks for taking the time to do this today. - Hi. Yeah. It’s my pleasure. - So, to begin— - Is it a good temperature in here? - Yes. - Good. I thought it was a bit warm this morning so I opened the windows to let in some fresh air. Now that the sun’s almost down I don’t know if it’s too cool inside. - I feel good about it. |
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