“Your mother is afraid of lizards. This is a constant. In the present or the past, she is always afraid of lizards. When you were a child, one crept in the house when your father was out, probably getting high––though you cannot blame everything on addiction. He might have been working.”
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Two Poems by Victoria Chang
Somewhere, in the morning, my mother / had become the sketch.
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Nurse Dog by Sarah Kasbeer
You feel like you’re wearing your body as a suit and suddenly you want to unzip it and leave it by the bedside. You feel smothered by something you can only identify as yourself.
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Chilean Wild Baby Pears by A. Kendra Greene
There is hardly a museum I visit where I don’t want to touch things.
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A Genius Moment, Or an Accident by Joe Bonomo
Such attention to arrangement and production details became Merriman’s signature on the hundreds of compositions—not only jingles and commercials, but corporate musical events and theme-park-ride music—he produced over an impressive fifty-year career.
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Hallelujah the Blind Gifts by Katherine E. Standefer
Oh Hallelujah the blind gifts, the foundation of all privilege. Hallelujah what we might call innocence, the idea that before things got fucked up they were once good.
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Northern Straits by Anne Trooper
The carpenters and fishermen come into Ralph’s for breakfast. They used to eye me up and down, but with a baby growing in my belly, I guess I’m not good for that anymore. I have on the brown, canvas, second-hand coat I found at the Trading Post. A man’s coat, but it fits pretty well, and I can’t see me in cute dresses with bows on the front, or tops that say baby on board.
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