Issue #72

Bobby Parrott

I Gulp You Down for Keeps
   And Then We’re Gone

                    (a monosyllabic poem)

In a new tongue I ask if blood
cells fear death. They lurch
through my curves, each throb

the last big push past brute clay.
Why should each scene play
just once, and then pack up, be

gone? Must we flip our way
thru our deck of days, each card
to click its face on, then close

its eyes for good? Our sun,
that bell who sounds no clang
throws its arms ’round me

and melts haze from my thrum
of far-off trees, ripped waves
that gauge this chunk of shore

then bounce their thin swipes
of white through our shared lens
to try and light us up. I ride in

past my heart on the sun, wear
my dark shades when you’re here.
Made like the moon, you flinch

when I come, my one clear gem
of snow. Caught in your eye’s lash
I’m off on a breeze of a blink.

In the thump of this thick book
I melt in the deep hot suck & swish
of this fist-clench gland, gulp

for Spring’s first green wound
when you breathe out, gone to mist
where my toes crave the strange.

Bobby Parrott is radioactive, but for how long? This queer poet’s epiphany concerns the intentions of trees, and his poems enliven dreamy portals like Tilted House, Rabid Oak, Whale Road Review, Neologism Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. He lives in Fort Collins, Colorado with his top house plant Zebrina, and his hyper-quantum robotic assistant Nordstrom.

Hannah Jane Weber

GOSSIP

trees speak with branches
reaching for branches sharing
whispered bark stories
murmuring today’s gossip
through wind’s invisible wires

Hannah Jane Weber’s poetry has been published in I-70 Review, Plainsongs, The Poeming Pigeon, Ponder Review, Rosebud, Slippery Elm and more. She is also a recipient of the Dylan Thomas American Poet Prize. Hannah Jane is a children’s librarian and tennis enthusiast. She lives with her husband and their dogs.

Ashley Knowlton

Little Boy Lipogram

rosy son
brood of mom’s
howl to holy God
soft crown drops
     down
blossoms from
torn womb, born
of bloody moss
boy bloom
who mom
     so worn
          so softly rocks
     to fond
old songs
     comfort croons

moody oblong tot, now
sloppy, top to bottom
mop to socks

     shoot

boy’s fond of
                         pond boots
                         storybooks
                         toy blocks
                         wonky colors
                         rock toss
bolts for doors to
pop-off tot-proof locks

     show-off

bold boy bloom
looks fondly on mom
who’s got soft spots for
do-good loons

drowsy, both slowly
     nod off
to mom’s old
     comfort croons

Ashley Knowlton teaches English and writes poetry for enjoyment. Her work has been published in Pomona Valley Review, DASH Literary Journal, Abandoned Mine, and Cobra Lily, with work to be published in upcoming issues of Trajectory (Issue 24) and Evening Street Press (Fall 2023). She lives in California with her husband and sons.

Thomas Hutchinson

Don’t Be So Hard On Yourself

We’ll always have our blue lagoon;
our shoes piled high above the waterline,
and our shoulders moving sea fret aside,
while we compartmentalise the hues —
moving the bluest between our beating hearts,
and the palest to the water’s edge.
You’ll always have our home to go to
when you’re being too hard on yourself.

Thomas Hutchinson lives in Newcastle upon Tyne and works in manufacturing. His poetry has previously been published in La Piccioletta Barca, Poetica Review, The Squawk Back and Oddball Magazine, among others, and has been longlisted for The AUB International Poetry Prize 2022 and the Poetry Kit Spring Competition 2022.