I pray for a fire. It would break the monotony of telephone rings and the buzzing of the damned lights.
Later, the girls stand in front of the open refrigerator, slightly feral: slices of cheese torn from plastic, pickles from the jar, a swig of Hershey’s syrup, jelly scooped out with a finger.
For Witches Ohio, 1994 Here is a language for witches. No. Here is a language for high school. No. Here is magic in all its occult guises. No. Here is high school in all its occult guises. No. Here is a hallway in a high school. The floor is gray linoleum. Lockers line the walls.... Continue Reading →
Dollar Store, Yes The checkout girl is fecund with child, and her neck is so finely dappled with the unmistakable constellations of hickies that when she asks you if you want more (more chips because you have one bag, and it’s two for one), you automatically say “yes,” because clearly this girl is teaching you... Continue Reading →
To My Ancestors To My Ancestors, Down the street around the cul-de-sac are the purple flowers that are shaped like snap-dragons except somehow prettier. I do not think they grew when you were here. // In the summer I am a browning leaf. I hear my bones crack and crumble underneath the smooth white soles... Continue Reading →
Thanksgiving, 1996 It’s a generous memory. My uncle holding crystal, delivering on the joy of family; his wife, my aunt, looking through the turkey one day after discovering her marriage vows had been violated. My father drunk again, my mother worried, her hand nervous at his side, trying to take a hold of his... Continue Reading →
by Anna Sandy-Elrod Anne Champion’s The Good Girl is Always a Ghost inhabits, identifies, praises, and laments the multifaceted, complex nature of womanhood. Champion writes odes to women—Sandra Bland, Amy Winehouse, Billie Holliday—and poems in their personas—Indira Ghandi, Bettie Page, Eva Perón—in a way that devastates, humbles, and breathes life into women across history, across... Continue Reading →
Animals Of Failed Memory—Ghosts Certain—situations, occurrences, certain people—I've tried very many times to forget. & I've failed each time. & there are certain things a man cannot forget whether they want to or not. It isn’t a man’s decision to make, maybe God’s. I was promised by one of my *fathers, He said he'd... Continue Reading →
by Cecilia Savala In Dots & Dashes, Winner of the 2016 Crab Orchard Review Series in Poetry Open Competition Award, Jehanne Dubrow speaks to other military families in the voice of academia and to academics in the voice of a Navy wife. Her poems, written in strict form like military rules, mirror the posture of... Continue Reading →
MOTHING Not long ago, I wanted nothing more than for him to pay as much attention to me as he does to moth genitalia. Hiking into remote ridges, rigging the white sheet and black light, sitting outside through the night, face up close to the swaying sheet. Empty vials quickly become flutter-filled, shaking, then still.... Continue Reading →