WITH APOLOGIES TO WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS by eric cairns
I have deserted
The box
That was in
The closet
And which
You were supposedly
Keeping
As storage
Forgive me
It was ripping
all over
You couldn’t keep us together
I have deserted
The box
That was in
The closet
And which
You were supposedly
Keeping
As storage
Forgive me
It was ripping
all over
You couldn’t keep us together
SLOWLY KNOWING by anton frost
dancing in the teal
skirt
of wave
and in
hush and sweep of
horizon
upon the vertical
and in
wind through rain
and in tremor
of stillness
on a planet
of constant motion
every night
she even
sang
and making lines
of her legs
along with the music
slowly learning
how to learn
i followed
yes
i followed
dancing in the teal
skirt
of wave
and in
hush and sweep of
horizon
upon the vertical
and in
wind through rain
and in tremor
of stillness
on a planet
of constant motion
every night
she even
sang
and making lines
of her legs
along with the music
slowly learning
how to learn
i followed
yes
i followed
THE HEART IS ONE BIG MUSCLE by jenny robertson
Because she left him, and she won't be back,
his friends take him ice fishing. They say,
you can't leave a man alone, as though
he might auger a hole as wide as his body,
throw himself in the water, let the ice freeze
above his head if they weren't around.
Or he could use the snowmobile: feel its dark power,
let loose to the 135mph the dealer said it could do,
and, they'd say later, accidentally, aim for the western shore
where the creek comes in, where the moving water keeps the ice
from forming, and he wouldn't even feel it
as he dove under, not on that fast machine.
So they set the lines in four holes cut square into the fish house floor,
punch through skim ice and scoop it out with metal strainers. They feed
the Jotul scraps of wood from their jobsites, newspaper in origami balls, sit
at the card table, let him smoke inside. They give him jerky and Doritos
and shots of Jaeger, steal the keys to his sled. They joke about women
and icy holes, about northern pike slippery as greased poles.
All they are is one big muscle, they say, and laugh.
They know he needs to get so pissed he'll start a fight over cards,
cuss out his best friend, throw a punch that misses, or not,
and sob in drunken apology. They'll stay with him
as he throws everything back onto the ice, let him pass out
in his best friend's truck on the way home, as the sun is rising.
Because she wasn't an icy hole. But they'll pretend she was.
And they won't let him fish alone until he's done
thinking about her that way.
Because she left him, and she won't be back,
his friends take him ice fishing. They say,
you can't leave a man alone, as though
he might auger a hole as wide as his body,
throw himself in the water, let the ice freeze
above his head if they weren't around.
Or he could use the snowmobile: feel its dark power,
let loose to the 135mph the dealer said it could do,
and, they'd say later, accidentally, aim for the western shore
where the creek comes in, where the moving water keeps the ice
from forming, and he wouldn't even feel it
as he dove under, not on that fast machine.
So they set the lines in four holes cut square into the fish house floor,
punch through skim ice and scoop it out with metal strainers. They feed
the Jotul scraps of wood from their jobsites, newspaper in origami balls, sit
at the card table, let him smoke inside. They give him jerky and Doritos
and shots of Jaeger, steal the keys to his sled. They joke about women
and icy holes, about northern pike slippery as greased poles.
All they are is one big muscle, they say, and laugh.
They know he needs to get so pissed he'll start a fight over cards,
cuss out his best friend, throw a punch that misses, or not,
and sob in drunken apology. They'll stay with him
as he throws everything back onto the ice, let him pass out
in his best friend's truck on the way home, as the sun is rising.
Because she wasn't an icy hole. But they'll pretend she was.
And they won't let him fish alone until he's done
thinking about her that way.
