Contributed By: Allison Blevins
Keep watch over your children. Forget about linger and loaf. Think of all the yeses you’ve spoken. Aim to be small. Remember loving the sound of some place: a hum or a whoosh. When the men come, when they swell, chests puffed full of gospeled breath, let them come.
Be broken like kindling. Remember your mother’s perfume. Think of the hills, deep and lasting. Keep watch over your feet. Slink into the cracks in the sidewalk. Be mud.
Return to table of contents for Issue 10 Fall 2016.
I’m going to stop coming out in the usual I don’t want to offend you way. I’ll tell the next children’s librarian who asks me my husband’s name about the time a cop held my wife against…
An animal scared silent, rabbit atremble in the morning grass, belly fur slick to the ground, the ground warming to the hands of sun and light. A salt lick, discovered in a day-to-day field, crusted…
Hoohooooooo a man kneels down before an even more powerful man his hand imagines a cat with lonely fur curtain seltzer weapon lover as the train whistle scratches the face of distances a…
Issue 10 Summer 2016 TERRY ADAMS has poems in Poetry, Ironwood, The Sun, Witness, College English, The Painted Bride Quarterly,and elsewhere. He MCs poetry events at the Beat Museum in San Francisco and in La Honda, California. His first collection, Adam’s Ribs, is available from Off…
Flecks of starlings peck pieces from a fried wing / on the asphalt by the driver’s side door.
To hold magical dominion over another person’s body one need only attain possession of his pared nails or cut-off hair, his spittle or his excrement; even his shadow, his reflection, or his footprints serve the same purpose. —Ernst Cassirer i In epistemology a specific can be tested because various other specifics constitute […]
from WITH THE MEMORY, WHICH IS ENORMOUS Main Street Rag, 2009 by Tony Trigilio AVIARY —for my brother I wanted to evict the pigeon who snuck in the living room window three weeks ago. Its fat tiptoe around the baby (not ours) laughing at the ceiling. I wish I could’ve loved the bird […]
