Contributed By: Darren Demaree
Celebration of the celebration
& holding all of the rhythms
all at once, the lightning
inside of the art museum
is not always pinned to be
a prize against the static walls;
the lightning, the growl
of the lightning is my children
& they become the whole show
as any dramatic weather
can become the whole show.
There should whole channels
dedicated to my children
where well-dressed people
make hesitant predictions
& look joyful while they do.
Return to table of contents for Issue 12 Winter 2018.
Some sons make great art & some sons punch great art & both kinds are good at parties. Return to table of contents for Issue 12 Winter 2018.
When I close my eyes I see the child in me hug the hour hand licked by the flame of memory emerging in stark darkness a faint light filters through cracks a half-open door…
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It was the summer Nan turned eight that she and her father had planted the moon garden at their holiday home in Oxfordshire. Her father, a history professor at Oxford during the year, but an avid horticultural hobbyist, happened to read about the art of medieval Japanese nocturnal gardens in April. By May, he decided […]
A marine steps on the metal plate of an IED. His legs fly in opposing directions through the air. He lands on the ground with a thud, blood and exposed bone where limbs used to be. Jess switches off the TV. It’s just a movie. Just a movie. The days leading up to Cal’s […]
