Issue #31

Frederick Pollack

Morlocks Eat Eloi

A plague depopulates the upper world.
We seal the doors, with no intention
of forgetting what or where we are;
we’re just not certain we’re immune.
So we invent biology and immunology.
Retool for domestic consumption: no more filmy
scarves or ruby pitchers for those upstairs.
But hydroponic algae makes us cranky;
we miss them, the loin roast, the flank steak.
Eventually we find other protein.
Make plans. Some transverse tunnels are converted;
we lie beneath UV, take posture classes.
Someday we’ll be as cute as they were. Meanwhile,
we weave the above slogan – obsolete
but redolent of our roots – on vivid textiles
to fly beneath the sun on the great day.


Author of two book-length narrative poems, THE ADVENTURE and HAPPINESS (Story Line Press), and two collections, A POVERTY OF WORDS (Prolific Press, 2015) and LANDSCAPE WITH MUTANT (Smokestack Books, UK, 2018). Many other poems in print and online journals.

Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad

The ghosts of masks and mirrors

that afternoon
is seared in my memory
with its scents of spring
braided in the air.

standing in front
of the full length mirror
birdsong flitted through curtains
a brass crucible in my hand
the saffron blend
of milk and sandalwood
a pinch of wild turmeric
wafting an earthy perfume
its cool film smeared thin
upon my face and neck.

The last sound I recall
is the warbling
of mynah birds
on my windowsill
before my innards seized
a plume of wetness seeping
in a trickle of viscous clots.

my pelvis cramping with fire
the brass bowl
tumbled from my hands
its golden contents spilling
as the seedling I was growing within
came seamlessly unstuck.

for years afterwards
I never touched turmeric
the heady notes of sandalwood
now an odour
that made me retch
the thought of my beauty ritual
emblazoned in my psyche –
a spectre for death
in utero.

for years
I never looked in mirrors
struggled to hold my own gaze
when irises caught
in reflecting surfaces
accused me of failure
irredeemable loss
where the smell of brass
was blood.


Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad is a Sydney based artist, poet, and pianist. She holds a Masters in English. Oormila is a member of Sydney’s North Shore Poetry Project and Authora Australis. Her recent works have been published in literary journals in Australia, the US, and the UK.

John Grey

SELF-DISCOVERY

Don’t be insulted
but

in an endeavor

to know
more about myself

I plan to know
you less
from this time on.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in That, Dalhousie Review and North Dakota Quarterly with work upcoming in Qwerty, Chronogram and failbetter.