by David Hanlon What is there to say about rickety bones that isn’t rickety? Not much when my nervous system is shot and my tongue is muted by panic so thunderous I fight against the gulping of half-formed vowels, I breathe in five times faster, and if each breath taken in is a new intake of life, I’m clamouring to Read More
Category: Rumbling Rhymes
In Pilates Class
by Ray Ball, PhD Sometimeswe do a movecalled The Elephant.Legs splayed evoking the memoryof the animal’s shape,its proboscis reaching.The muscle memoryof the hips that storeso much emotionthat never forgetstretched tau(gh)tologically.I read somewherethat elephants mourntheir dead. If onlymourning could beclear and simple,brash like the trumpetingof a pachyderm.If only what I buriedstayed under the earth,but the elephant digs it up, the fragile Read More
Facing the other way
by David Hanlon I feel ashamed of how little I know about current events, I know the basics, scratch the surface, but mostly avoid knowledge of pain so staggering, so global, it’s tough to hold the weight of, but to hold the pain itself,I can’t even begin to imagine— and there it is, shame, and so, I delve into the Read More
Duolingo Ponies
by Ray Ball, PhD My horse does not eat rice. I admit the horse is the horse I have only ever had between outwitting advertisements. I can’t omit to tell you the horse drinks milk. My ponies probably have flanks, shiny with sweat, but I don’t know the words for shiny or flank yet. For pony either. Is it the Read More
Bad Neighbors
by Elisabeth Horan Frost might think we have forgotten how it is to mend a wall. Good neighbors we are not. What once was rolling acres of deforested masterpieces, framed by such precise and plaintive cairns – rolled by hand of man or brutish ox to the edges of the gently wooded glens – To keep the sheep so neatly grazing Read More
The Afternoon of Your Cremation
by Leah Mueller Strip from bone and evaporate to wherever the dried blood goes. Memories seethe: your abrupt assault, your terrified love. Bulbous digits, teeth in a sawdust box embossed with an Indian’s head. Wishbone and sage. You always said I talked too much, though my voice never reached very far. I pretend you were kind, pretend you wanted our Read More
Ode to Cheese
by Jarvis Subia Click play below to hear Jarvis read ‘Ode to Cheese’ aloud. Born and raised in the San José Bay Area, Jarvis Subia‘s work delves into his relationship with his communities, sexuality, masculinity, national/global politics, lineage, race, gardening, mental health, personal growth, love, love, and love. Jarvis is San José’s 2018 Poetry Grand Slam Champion. He has been Read More
The Hemlocks Have No Doors
by Elisabeth Horan Something there is that wants to eat me – wants to eat me alive. He is the thing with yellow eyes and I’m never safe for there are no doors, There are no locks on hemlocks. Some get the pleasure of being eaten dead. Never feel his jaws crush their head – There is a thing called Read More
Elephants Never Let Their Loved Ones Die Alone
by Elisabeth Horan Elephants never let their loved ones Die alone Never let God come first for their tired, Broken bones But protect the soul from jackals, Hyenas Endeavor to prevent the cruel rape of her Ivory for profit Elephants enact their ceremony; Create a circle of love and protection For a friend, a loved one; A child, a mother. Read More
At the Memorial
by Leah Mueller Afraid to weep, my son carries his father’s ashes in a cardboard box. As water roils in the distance, he steps inside a crater filled with loose gravel, twists his ankle, crumples to the ground. We stand above, hands outstretched while he tosses in agony on the asphalt. On the shore, beachcombers climb dead tree branches, pick Read More