Issue 2.2 Sasha West 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…”



The dirt, the rust, the anchored ships, the gangways frozen.
That tape recorder, brutal in its accuracy, its stutter—
Slavish to the turns of phrase, of season, slave to winter and the mouth’s snows—
I made up the method of talk so you sounded like a human.

We huddled near the stove, stuffed its raw iron door with kindling.
Moon like radiation through the flat’s window, a larder
Stocked with salted fish and ash cakes for the coming storms.
I thought I was a match you lit with movement until

I learned my body was just a thing burning: oil spill, tire fire, drought-
Ridden suburb. While I wept for loss you spouted reason
From a chair where you tallied the earth’s disasters;
(Insert as in parliament if there was laughter or weeping;

Pack the interview with stage directions.) This ongoing
Negotiation with the living creature, while flames consume
A building full of corpses, the taxidermied smell of turpentine
Rising. Radiance lights the tundra, the oil slick burns like a prayer.

We lived in the meat locker for a year, bottles clanking;
Days staving off extremities’ decay, nights inside the tender rocking,
One hand on the back of my head held me barely into my body.
The river broke and pulled the boulders from their settings.

We tarnished the year with our own stupidity. You kept pushing
At my flesh until you found the node of cruelty—like a hand
Over a breast searching for cancer. Deep in another
Love, I catalog small tragedies beside which we lit the single lamp and read.

(I drag out and thaw love’s corpse slowly in the setting sun, still, until
The blurred, broken and loose contours of your body populate the bed.)

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