Issue 2.2 Devon Miller-Duggan 2

The Over-Thirty League by Lou Gaglia
“Jesse told me about the over-thirty softball series…”

The Kid Next Door by Zeke Jarvis
“On Tuesday, the neighbors ask Justin to threaten to eat their child…”

What Gets Worn by Jesse Waters
“I needed a suit. I was twenty-four and didn’t have one.”

What You Feed Me by Kelsey Liebenson-Morse
“1. Caramelized Frog’s Hollow Farm peaches and roasted fingerling potatoes….”

Sport by Christopher Lowe
“My father was not a sports fan…`”

Multiple Choice by Matthew Gavin Frank
“A couple of things: 1) At about the same time Grandma Ruth died, my sister…

Gone by Krista Christensen
“I swallow the Xanax like I could swallow truth with it…”

Yo Mama So Fat by Karen Craigo
“If I fall, I’ll make an earthquake.”

Siberia by Sasha West
“The dirt, the rust, the anchored ships, the gangways frozen.”

Museum of Natural History #37, Helen {Keller} by Sasha West
“She launched a thousand stares, a thousand words on the sea of her hands…”

Billy Sunday’s Revival Tent by David Salner
“All summer, light towers blaze,
reflect off sweat.”

Good Vibrations by Daniel Romo
“Who expects lessons from a buff Boston boy.”

Driving at Night in the Rain by Sarah Hulyk Maxwell
“We find ourselves suddenly over open water.”

A lady never wears panty hose with runners by Sarah Hulyk Maxwell
“our stockings classify
us: nonladies.”

$25 Statutory Witness Fee by Sarah Hulyk Maxwell
“I hear the lawyer use the term spiderwebbing to describe her head…”

Meanwhile by Jessica Goodfellow
“Here is a photo of my second son.”

Proper Abcedarian 6: January by Devon Miller-Duggan
“Another bandage, another look-every-stranger-in-the-eyes…”

Proper Abcedarian 1: Turns by Devon Miller-Duggan
“And fall and the light tasting of good scotch, like belief….”

Ill-Suited by Christopher Dollard
“At the mall, the suits I try on for my best friend’s wedding remind me…”

She Went Into the Lobby For a Box of Junior Mints by Gregory Crosby
“The warm & the cool, the embrace & the gaze, the entangled…”

How Did Your Father Spend His Spare Time? by Ace Boggess
“It was the 70s, & I too young to learn gamble…”

Proper Abecedarian 6: January


Another bandage, another look-every-stranger-in-the-eyes, another
bothering to breathe your own city’s lights or another’s, which
chatter away about new years and old sins, old beauties, old streets. Another
daughter wears a ring and light.

Either there is breath, or not. Light, or not. Grace, or not.
Familiar as breath and light—grace. Yet you let it be
guttered like the candles after mass. But
hotter than your angry-at-nothing heart, ready with a shovel. Wind alone
inters all the previous year: dispersal=burial. You scribe up the count and
jitter toward the new one. She’s the
knotter of rages, tangler of wires, snarler of threads. She’s the
lurch from failure to faint, kickshaw to nice, gravity to grace.

Matter is a house for time. Or grace.
Natter is a prayer for blindness. Or grace.
Other is a trap for loathing. Or grace is a
plotter, a calendar, an arc, a spark
quivering in the longest nights. You sleep
rather than speak to your familiar, your pen, your
shattered mirror. You love what
tethers you. Pray it holds you while the dark
utters its litany of darknesses, winds. Bullets
vector into veins, red stars.
Water becomes breath & slip, falls as harmless. The church’s ribs become
Xylophone—toy on which you learn your notes. Grace
yearns for your throat, or a pen. Air
zithers against your skin—rough tongues of angels licking the hard-born year alive.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email