On the same side
turn a car
into a parallelogram,
an oft-read Bible,
a shelf of books
with a few
missing, a man
sitting and a woman
standing. Her hand
is on his shoulder.
His head lolls forward.
Her feet are anxious.
Kevin C. Stewart is the author of The Way Things Always Happen Here, a collection of stories, and Margot, winner of the Texas Review Novella Prize. He teaches at Carroll College and lives in Helena, Montana.
[Purchase your copy of Issue 09 here.]
DAVID BARBER
Sometimes a marvel of meteorology, the makings of a hypothesis. / Sometimes historical, sometimes supernatural, sometimes hearsay – / Sometimes a little bird tells someone it’s raining sprats on the isthmus. / Not just fish – sometimes showers of frogs, the odd lizard or elver.
DALIA TAHA
All we own are our lips / and the pupils of our eyes—the car / will plow into all of this. / And still, life is far too complex / for words like victory or defeat. // Life is Salma on the balcony / moving plants to bigger pots, in her eyes / the settlement’s lights.
BRIONNE JANAE
did you keep your mind? / you got to walk it for yourself / and on returning what state did you find it in? / as in what state were you in? / were you where you left yourself? / and who was left? / was anyone left? / and how sure were you that you could reach them?
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