an independent creative arts journal
By Amalia Danilo
Posted on
It was unwise to believe,
that when Colombia departed from her mother
that evidence of her existence would rot
the same way that the night fades into memory
the second the calico punctures the sun
and bleeds out onto the water.
Her charcoal braid runs into the countryside, unravelling
becomes the gravity that divorces from God
water from the oil,
sunlight from the soil.
By Maxwell Bauman
Posted on
The god perches on a throne of bricks;
Behold a man’s body with a bull’s face.
Surrender presents to the ruler.
Outstretched arms will always reach for more.
A furnace forged of copper.
Jaw gaping, eyes radiating red,
maddening in anticipation of the meal.
Seven chambers in his chest feed air to the flames.
An archway exposes an opening into his belly;
Four stomachs are his true domain;
Rumen, reticulum, omasum, and abomasum.
Wet acidic bile traded for dry ashes and hot coals.
Greed chars the kiln.
He is never full; feed him.
He consumes all humanity,
and it still isn’t enough.
By Samantha LaClair
Posted on
Tommy:
12-year-old MN Domestic Shorthair, brown tabby
After hearing the triage call through the speaker system, I waited in the doctors’ area for the nurse to return from the exam room. She gave me a brief synopsis of Tommy’s situation before I ventured in. Her somber words were a pale harbinger of what I would witness in that room.
When I opened the door, the sour smell of decay instantly turned my stomach. On the examination table, splayed in a makeshift bed of soiled terrycloth in an old Coors Light cardboard box, lay an obese cat—conscious, vocal, paraplegic. His hind limbs were cold and dead. Worse, he was lucid—acutely aware of his pain, and at least to me, pleading for deliverance.
Two women accompanied him. The first had pulled up a chair to the table where she crouched over him, whispering to him and stroking his head as I entered.…
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By Aaron Nobes
Posted on
For Freena
1.
Frank stares one-eyed down the beer’s neck: ‘Imagine, oourf, imagine you get woken’n middle of the night.’
Al, neck bent 90° back: ‘Middle of the maaawning.’
‘Shut up wog.’ Laughter behind Frank’s scorn. ‘You’re asleep’n get woken by er demon’n your chest.’
‘Hot.’ Eric leans on the table and clasps air 9cm short of the vodka. ‘You’ve, thankee James, you’ve my attention.’
‘Whichas cursed you to repeat your entire life, everything ‘cluding that moment, over and over and over, how’d you respond?’
Eric tops up a tumbler glass: ‘Izze’ demon a redhead?’
Frank tilts head right and down with annoyed smile. The sky is black-turning-blue. Three magpies begin to chorus.
James lowers his Switch and sighs through his nose: ‘It’s about time.’
Frank raises his beer in salutation, skulls it and pats his pockets.…
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By Kashawn Taylor
Posted on
August Martin’s baby momma wasn’t there.
He looked around the courtroom, the ceilings were high, the lights bring and harsh, and the thought, somewhat absurdly, that those fluorescent lights were perfecting for such a judicial setting. August took in the faces of people around him: single parents with their kids, lone adults bobbing their heads around nervously, older men and women, probably grandparents, looking stoic, or calm. He couldn’t tell. The children, he noticed, looked happy, weaving through the aisles created by the long wooden benches in the gallery. Look at them, he thought, they don’t even know.
The family court was on the third floor of the city’s courthouse. The first and second floors were reserved from criminal and traffic hearings. He’d spent too much time downstairs to ever want to be here again, but if he had to be here – and he did – he was glad to be in upstairs for once. …
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By Kenneth Pobo
Posted on
a hummingbird
sips from
our feeder before
flying away
returning
fifteen minutes
later an impatient
diner
she glides
tilts
finds a red
lobelia and
goes there
silently
By Eleanor Phillips
Posted on
We’re halfway through the set and my hand is on fire. My white guitar is smeared red with blood. The walls are sweating and the crowd in front of us seems endless. It isn’t, I can see the back staircase, but in my mind we’re at the start of something real here.
I finish my solo at the end of the song and step up to the mic. “I know Georgie said he was inviting everyone he knew, but I didn’t think he had this many friends!”
A soft laughter comes from the crowd and Georgie taps the drums behind me in response.…
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