Poetry Winter 2018 fiction all issues
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Cover Elena Koycheva
Bryce Emley
Asking Father What’s at the End
& other poems
AJ Powell
Butterfly-minded
& other poems
Faith Shearin
Biology
& other poems
Claire Van Winkle
Admitting
& other poems
Sarah W. Bartlett
Summer Cycles
& other poems
Nooshin Ghanbari
Vincent
& other poems
Meli Broderick Eaton
The Afterlives of Leaves
& other poems
Jeddie Sophronius
Refugees
& other poems
Paula Bonnell
In Winter, By Rail
& other poems
Addison Van Auken Waters
Girls
& other poems
Daniel Sinderson
Hallelujah
& other poems
Andrew Allport
All Nature Will Fable
& other poems
Marte Stuart
What an Insult Time Is
& other poems
Matthew Parsons
My Father as an Inuit Hunter
& other poems
Emily Bauer
Gently, Gently
& other poems
Bruce Marsland
A once lovelorn bard’s final journey
& other poems
Beatrix Bondor
Night Makers
& other poems
Isabella Skovira
Lawless Conservation
& other poems
Juan Pablo González
Colombia, 1928
& other poems
Molly Pines
The Pillbug
& other poems
Jamie Marie
On the Lake
& other poems
William A. Greenfield
If You Show Me Yours
& other poems
Bill Newby
Tuesdays at The Seagate's Atlantic Grille
& other poems
Elder Gideon
Male Initiation Rites
& other poems
Joel Holland
Dear Gi-Gi
& other poems
Martha R. Jones
How Lewis Carroll Met Edgar Allan Poe
& other poems
Andrew Allport
All Nature Will Fable,
Said Thoureau, if you lack ability
to express it in language, every rock’s shine
becomes a myth.
Thus armed, our father and son go fishing
a pond below the railroad cut, bright bobbers
lacquered in a green slime.
Just then, an osprey folds its wings and bombs
into the water, rising with a tremble
as a Reno-bound freight train thunders by
above, machine in the garden.
Which machine? Which Garden?
When there was no more beauty, we decided
we could worship the loss of beauty, and so
nothing was lost. Lo, how the water sparkled
under the uranium mine, clear as lucite,
and the sky a monument to ignorance.
Monofilament in the bushes along the shore,
seabirds dying of thirst. Mommy and me
saw it once. Did you see sharks? Yes, some,
I lie. And where was me? You? An egg
we carried in our pale adaptation
of a mystery. You were one
conclusion in the middle of a line,
mine story, the end of life as we knew.
Andrew Allport
holds a PhD in Literature and Creative Writing from the University of Southern California. He is the author of the body of space in the shape of a human, which won the New Issues Prize, as well as a chapbook, The Ice Ship & Other Vessels. His work has appeared in numerous national journals, including Orion, The Antioch Review, Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly and Boston Review. He lives in southwest Colorado, where he helps edit Cutthroat, A Journal of the Arts, and is frequently mistaken for someone else.