Issue 4.1: Susan Grimm

Issue No 4.1

Tidal Volume by Carla Kirchner
“The man in the bed, the bloated body that used to be your husband, is now a whale…”

The Fledgling by Susan Pagani
“A child had died in the neighborhood. A four-year-old girl called Molly. The day it happened, there had been snow…”

Adephagia by Beth Sherman
“Did she get to eat all the sacrifices or were there limits? Yes to pigeon dressed with cucumbers and olives, no to hindquarters of roasted lamb…”

The Blue Cup by Beth Sherman
“She lay on the table and looked up. There was a naked light bulb directly overhead and it was bright so she shut her eyes again…”

Blackbird by Beth Bilderback
“I sang it when he was brand new and still completely stunned to find himself on earth. I sang it while holding his foot through the slats of the crib, a flashlight in my other hand creating planets of light on the ceiling…”

The Leo Burke Finish by Michael Chin
“I was a quiet child. I have theories. Theories about my father’s scolding leaving little room for me to speak…”

Black Market Fish by Jonathan Harper
“We are floating towards the top of the world…”

Trail Magic by JoDean Nicolette
“I met her feet first, just north of the Great Smoky Mountains. I was sitting on a spruce log next to the trail, scowling down at my filthy socks when her boots slid into my field of vision…”

Kiss by Patricia Budd
“Father asked the Navy
for a loan, a dead horse,
to buy the coffin
Grandma favored
for her youngest….”

Dream Man #5 by Krista Cox
“He does not ask you to perch on a curb
outside an abandoned gas station while he accepts…”

Onset of my Quonset by Susan Grimm
“I always think of the grassy beach
hat one of my aunts wore. Conical not pointy. Maybe…”

Or Else by Susan Grimm
“Something elegant. Sometimes eliminated in the automatons
of other centuries. The stocky robots, stiff-armed…”

Elegy for Bob Kaufman by Ashton Kamburoff
“The difference between pleasant
and peasant is a quick ride
on the L. Bone blue window
of the soul, we know that song…”

Eurydice suite by Robert Miltner
“summer morning slow time the quiet of pillowed beds under canopy & branch languid touch & solace…”

Seamus Heaney in Community College Summer School by Adam Tavel
“We drowse in the purgatorial
classroom, blinds cranked closed
while YouTube bogs, stuttering
through The Troubles, the Celtic…”

Susan Grimm

Onset of my Quonset


When I think hut I always think of the grassy beach
hat one of my aunts wore. Conical not pointy. Maybe


going natural so she didn’t have to comb her hair. Primitive
dwelling. Wattle and daub. A place to rent miniature


golf clubs or choose ice cream. Rabbit hutch. The hutch
where my mother lovingly laid out her plates. And soup bowls.


Hut! As in attention. As in where Cliff Robertson didn’t know
he lay in wait for Sandra Dee. Because innocence


always knocks you on the head no matter which side
of the skull you’re on. Little grass shack. Suggesting


nothing to flush. Suggesting Fiji and maybe Gauguin
had it right—never mind his wife and his children. Vernacular


architecture. First binary step from mouth to ear. Sound
we make (cluck, cluck) when we’re steering the flock.


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