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ISSUE 4

FALL 2013

Work by Kurt Brown, Laurie Stone, Traci Brimhall, David Haynes and more.

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THE BEFORE PART OF WHAT I DO by Jemison Faust

#15 (30" by 36", Mixed Media on Board) ◄ Back Next ► Picture 1 of 8

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TWO POEMS by Megan Peak

                                       —In your bed, I lie
open to all the ways you have me: husked, sown, ruined.
You hover above, right hand burgeoning like a mushroom,
white, trembling. Outside the pine seeds slip from their cones,
plummet toward the ground. After you strike, I don’t try

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THE SHATTER OF BIRDS by Javier Zamora

                               after Abuelita
Javiercito, you’re leaving me tomorrow
when our tortilla-and-milk breaths will whisper
te amo. When I’ll pray the sun won’t devour
your northbound steps. I’m giving you this conch
swallowed with this delta’s waves
and the sound of sand absorbing.

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TO MY POLISH AUNTS by Mary Kovaleski Byrnes

                        After Ginsberg
Skin pale and pocked with moles,
your names pulled from Slavic litanies,
were strong enough for farm work, had the taste
of whole milk: Bertha, Elsie, Hannah,

in your kitchens, I sat on wooden chairs,
one eye looking out for the coal-grayed cats

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WHAT I WISH FOR by Kay Cosgrove

At the party I would stand as a statue, offering guests talking points
about the Roman Ideal and that famous grace.

There is more.

I’d quell ambitions, have the armies stop fighting, ask for less.

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THREE POEMS by Purvi Shah

MIRA LONGS TO BE MORE THAN A BRIDE

The sound of your footsteps

is waterfall. Why not thrust
      off these bangles then?

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THE END OF LABOR by Al Maginnes

I stared through noon-shaded glass to see
how we are measured against our tasks.
My father and other men made sacraments

of sweat, days measured in squares of dirt, lengths
of wood, packets of seed.

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THREE POEMS by David Winter

STORYBOARD

We spent her sixteenth, my seventeenth summer perched on a porch, talking out our love
for her man. I had little language. She was luculent. We worked back through wrong things, arriving

before him. Her mouth opened, black as a movie reel—I do not want to project. She storyboards:

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SELF PORTRAIT AS TEENAGED BOY BEATING SWAN
 by Colleen Abel

Sometimes you have enough–
the cob, the pen twining

their necks to hearts,
all that fidelity.

The dank pond by the council
flats, like it’s bloody Windermere.

You only wanted to wreck
that love-shape they were making.

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TWO POEMS by Danez Smith

SLOW TWERK

or how to tame a brushfire

or how you get on his last nerve
& juke on it

or how he breathes while he dreams
of a mouth full

or how the war was won
when you got him limp

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THE CITY IS A BODY BROKEN by Natalie Scenters-Zapico

Most days, the light falls so thick
I don’t know what it is to be
without it. At night we lie

in bed away from each other,
the moon so bright it is a scrim
for the sun. When clouds come,

monsoons flood freeways, trap
old tires against barbed wire.

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