Issue #19

Michael Akuchie

BAR REMEDY

gulping down pain in my years is easy when a bottle halfway through is kind enough to allow onboard a breathing mass of dejection shooting for places that do not hug visitors with drawn teeth i immerse myself into its watery bosom to escape terror molded to form a society thirsty for the tears they nudge to freefall bar noise mashed with tinkling glass covers up the night calm sips are drowned by mouth, lick clean the heaviness i contain my body will not kiss earth when pursed lips flirt with cup & a sea of drunk ghosts shall not hit the walls i carve out moon beams up outside while the barman & i touch unfrequented conversation topics drowning in his concerned stares & in his unfazed delivery of booze for minds seeking recluse from the world amidst the flow of heaven forged in liquid, i open my heart & give face to my fears, lulling the chaos within to sleep i unspeak sanity because my mouth walks unguarded these days no one will want a pair of eyes attracted only to pale monsters & tightening grip on stories about ghosts welcoming sleeplessness i explain death by self & declare i am stained by that action i wear a gargantuan void in my voice & suck despair inside there is a need for love & for voids i own to be filled i confess to wrapping up my skin with the shine of courage but in reality there is success only in cornering tongue with teeth for blood to close gaping wounds caused by biting bar man is essential to forgetting the ruins poured onto my head somehow the pain grows still in walking & swallows ice in the advent of miracle, i celebrate with red river collected in glass sinking tastes like solace & bliss is not far from tongue’s reach healing is war against bitterness often curled up as nightmares & i bleed out grief over & over till i flood the bar with my business.

Michael Akuchie is a Nigerian—based poet whose works have appeared on Barren Magazine, Euonia Review, Kalahari Review, African Writer, Anti-Heroin Chic Mag and other literary spaces. He is currently a university undergrad. He is on Twitter as @Michael_Akuchie.

Holly Day

With Time

The floor was filled with blue and green shards of broken glass,
sparkling like crystal in the morning light. My mother’s teeth
were bared like a shark’s, eyes wide with rage
as she threw bottle after bottle against the kitchen tiles.
“Don’t come in here!” she shrieked as she hurled.
“There’s glass everywhere!”

Now a huddled, old woman
my mother tells me how angry the day is making her
thinks she’d feel better if she broke something. I look at those
thin, white wrists, the shaking hands that can barely
lift a cup of tea without spilling everywhere
imagine her throwing an empty beer bottle, an old jelly jar
against the wall

and try not to laugh.

Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in The Cape Rock, New Ohio Review, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry collections are A Perfect Day for Semaphore, In This Place, She Is Her Own, A Wall to Protect Your Eyes, I’m in a Place Where Reason Went Missing, and The Yellow Dot of a Daisy.

Erik Fuhrer

Apocalyptical Theatre

When one door closes
another one opens and the apocalypse
slips through munching
on movie popcorn
as it consumes your life
on 8-millimeter film

In the apocalypse’s theatre of doors
your body is a current
piped through electrical cords
sparking past the apocalypse’s toes
and your anthem is a cat scratching
at the door of the apocalypse’s heart
begging for a drop of spoiled milk

Erik Fuhrer is a pushcart prize and best microfictions 2018 nominee who holds an MFA from the University of Notre Dame. His work can be found on his website, Erik-Fuhrer.com. He tweets @ErikFuhrer.