Diction (a glossary of terms)
My mother asks why I cry
I tell her the world is so sad so unfair so far too much
And my words are not enough
I cannot hold the tears back
So I fill buckets and lakes and moats
Everything’s late this year.
Nothing’s dissolved since my last visit to Waterloo—
an evening at the park staring at geese
and we took turns
pushing each other on swings,
pretending we were children.
today breaks open
in a sudden rain
on hot asphalt
every drop distills into
Strip the skin off my body and hold
me tight. Take this ugly brown shell, burn
scar, thrown to sea. Let waves batter
me against rocks, shark teeth ravage carcass,
oil spill on pale water.
the two of us
you face the tv
your lips they twist
perceptions in an instant.
Our 2017 Poetry Contest Honourable Mention.
She built a tower for herself. What a waste
of sand, they all thought, and to not lower
her hair down—who waits, in a desert, to be overcome
—not part of me. She makes up games
like Quidditch and plays with me.
Body throws me down
If our gratitude dries parched, we think nothing of water
If our tongues shrink, we think of nothing but water
nothing of water; foresight shortened
dry, memory of these -dry -days
Abattoirs, Abortuaries, and America (HOO-RAH)
Bleach and Beer-Batters, Batman!
Camaro . . . Catchphrases . . . Catachresis . . .
Donkey-sauce; Donkey-sauce; Donkey-sauce
Our 2017 Short Forms Contest Honourable Mention.
Every night, you sleep on my neck.
Contentment seeps through our chakras.
Low dirt path parts Loch Awe as a helix unbinding.
We walk like thistled mutants to Kilchurn ruins.
. . . I found a pair of velvet-coated antlers,
three fingers reaching from an open palm
still throbbing with platelet’s hot breath
Hold a winesap apple to your brow and think of the worst possible outcome.
Or has the worst already happened? How do you define cataclysm?
Are you dead yet?
We're writing letters to our future selves
wanting to know if we can outlive men with beautiful hands.
black pearls on a string
when young lustrous
men dazzle yet frighten us
for many our first encounters a plundering
The tongue is lost—now blood pools
in her mouth. Her maid stops the wound
with a tampon, split down the middle
like some carpenter’s unlucky thumb.
Currently on Newsstands
Room 41.3, Queer
Edited by Leah Golob
In this issue:
Adèle Barclay, Joelle Barron, Nicole Breit, Mary Chen, Lucas Crawford, Jen Currin, Pamela Dodds, Jane Eaton Hamilton, Jess Goldman, hannah harris-sutro, Leah Horlick, Sam Jowett, Ness Lee, Annick MacAskill, Alessandra Naccarato, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, Marika Prokosh, Amal Rana, Siobhan Roca Payne, Leah Sandals, Hana Shafi, Arielle Spence, Samantha Sternberg, Sanchari Sur, K.B. Thors, Corey Turner, Jackie Wykes.