Poetry Summer 2017 fiction all issues
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Cover Marija Zaric
Kathryn Merwin
For Aaron, Disenchanted
& other poems
William Stevens
Celestial Bodies
& other poems
Kendra Poole
Take-Off, or The Philosophy of Leaving
& other poems
AJ Powell
Mama Atlas
& other poems
Matt Farrell
Waves in the dark
& other poems
Timothy Walsh
Eating a Horsemeat Sandwich at Astana Airport
& other poems
Nancy Rakoczy
Adam
& other poems
Joshua Levy
Venezuela Evening
& other poems
Ryan Lawrence
Vegan Teen Daughter vs. Worthless Dad
& other poems
George Longenecker
Yard Sale
& other poems
Susanna Kittredge
My Heart
& other poems
Morgan Gilson
Dostoevsky
& other poems
Jim Pascual Agustin
The Annihilation of Bees
& other poems
Taylor Bell
Browsing Tinder in an Aldi
& other poems
David Anderson
Continental Rift
& other poems
Charles McGregor
The Boys That Don’t Know
& other poems
Cameron Scott
Ashes to Smashes, Dust to Rust
& other poems
Kenneth Homer
Inferno Redux
& other poems
Alice Ashe
lilith
& other poems
Kimberly Sailor
Marriage's Weekly Schedule
& other poems
Kim Alfred
Soul Eclipse
& other poems
Morgan Gilson
Dostoyevsky
Strands of time travel
in red threads of conspiracy
out from now to thousands
upon thousands of eventualities,
and my stomach cramps,
nauseous at the thought
of these other realities
we can’t see. Yet
it is written:
Our days are numbered
(possibly itemized,
and maybe even bulleted).
I woke up panicked
and perspiring.
I had been dreaming
of Dostoyevsky.
I was a piano key,
black and white,
and sounding
the same note over
each time I was struck.
Relapse
every day is the same
as the day before, the day soon after.
it is the happenings that transform.
six months ago I couldn’t get out of bed.
voices came and went; sleep went
more often than it came. And I remember
all of this not because I ever saw the sun
rise or set on any of those days but because
it is not <now>. the most beautiful flower
blooms in the field next to your house.
it is aflame, a star with earthly roots.
change is the only dawn.
Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question
-e e cummings
always only (is only) always
the earnest eternal
beautiful change (which) may
answer back again
that echo that
asks what is (asked of it)
an emptiness more empty
even than the void of a heart
more vast than the (last
beautiful) expanse (of stars not known so
question answers that [answer] question[s])
I Want to Pick Out My Own Coffin
I wish I was warm inside
my mother’s womb again.
And I could float through life
listening to the rhythm of ventricles and lungs.
Safe inside my placenta suit,
my eyes would be bulging, dark spots
beneath a film of skin (the softest, slimiest skin
covering my everything: little hands and toes, with
the tiniest nails, that squirm and wave wildly).
No thought would ever enter my prenatal mind.
But thoughts do come constantly piercing my brain
that was born. Uncontrolled,
this thing in my chest goes on without asking.
Breathe in then breathe out,
and keep sucking up life.
I’ll never be unborn again,
so I‘ll be alive until there’s something else I’m in.
Klonopin Dreams
I have epiphanies,
instants of mental lightning,
like moments of lucidity
(flashes of brilliance and clarity)
and then nothing.
I have epiphanies
(that turn my eyes to kaleidoscopes) so I can see
how tiny puzzle pieces continuously form and reform to
compose everything.
Moments of lucidity
twist (like light bulbs) in the sockets of reality
and (spot light the universe as it) opens its mouth to sing:
“I have epiphanies!”
They resonate in the consciousness like harmonies
resound in the ear of the mind of the heart.
Like moments of lucidity
life (washes over me),
wave upon heavy, drowning wave.
(I have epiphanies)
like moments of lucidity.
Morgan Gilson
is a teacher in Fort Worth, Texas where she lives with her husband, son, and two dogs. Aside from writing poetry, Morgan spends her time reading, traveling, and attempting to teach herself to play the ukulele using how-to books and Youtube videos.