Botany by Rob Carney I’m glad I know the ground’s a botanistand not just something that we stand on. Grow, it says, and there’s a sapling,then a tree globed out with peaches. Every autumn it says, Come here, let’s get those leaves off, baby.Kind of like science, only...
Six Variations Upon Ayn Rand’s Profession of Love for Her Husband, Each Concerning a Discrete Human Element by Stephen M. Sanders Asked if she believed she would see her late husband again after her death, Ayn Rand replied that if she did, she would have killed...
Taking Liberty by Matt Kelsey The year is nascent still, a foal fresh from another body learning its own. The temperatureflirts with the vague idea of zero. I’m being rezoned. There’s a new map drawn in my mind. I take a...
Fight by Mercedes Lawry Played out on a green field, square,or roughly so, the intersection of two boys,one and the other in conflict, tempers abraded. Was he wronged, this one, or caught in slant perception?Was he insulted, that one, at such ruinous assumption?The...
How Do I Fit This Ghost In My Mouth by Anca Szilagyi after Geoffrey Farmer at the Vancouver Art Gallery I wanted to tell her how she’d said, one blue caninestupid she looked, but buzzing bright in herthere wasn’t enough time. mouth. So bright...
The Origins of Poetry by Kevin Honold Archaeologists claim that chance nicksaround the rim of a clay drinking bowlmay have suggested meter to a pair of postglacialdeadbeats squatting in one of the less respectable caves,eating burnt beans, damning the insufferable...
