**note: we are always accepting admissions on a rolling deadline for each issue**
And Yet He Sings
by T. John Anderson
New York
sex above the city
a cigarette to lament
drifting smoke
from the balcony
In the summer he came to me
smelling of white wine and pistachios
Night
and he beckoned me
across the dark room,
across the sleeping bodies
to the sagging bed where he lay
in his underwear singing softly
to the peach-colored dawn.
I crawled to his side
and I did not sleep.
Back home
Midwest
smells of sweat and
corn in August
smells of Kentucky
bourbon on my tongue
and his tongue
on my tongue
What everyone else knows about him
I chose to forget
girls, boys looked at him
he looked back thinking
I was not looking
If I could rewind this ribbon
I would not write
what has been written here
He sings to himself.
Months
together
he sings to someone else.
finals week
by Joe McGlone
bitter jitters pulse
twitches and fiddles
the 6th cup of coffee
burns my bitten lips
ink smudged fingers
postulate and linger
in a spinning, weightless place
with no point of reference
utensil in hand, i never knew before
just how hard it was to
draw a blank
Untitled
by Christina Peterson
Blue crystalline eyes that are too
indicative of his
states of mind.
Deep sea diving
or shallow end strolling,
I never know which
suit to prepare.
Guilt fueled lust
or motherly concern
are always to be expected.
Oedipus would be impressed
by this incestuous obsession.
But I will not do the honor
of plucking out my eyes.
Because I believe in
cowardice before virtue.
His bouts of affection,
be they verbal
or full of touches
steer me towards
a haze
of shame and love.
Also, here is a photograph from Isabel Reidy's Portraits of Life collection.
