MOEZ SURANI Guy de Maupassant “What, then, did Flaubert understand by beauty, in the art he perused with so much fervour, with so much self-command? Let us hear a sympathetic commentator.” — Walter Pater I become Boswell around him. I see him Sundayswhen bark closes his face. He is an unhappy planet disregard thegarrulity of his letters he is somethingfrom Ovid becoming woman or lionon whim becoming delusionor child as the bark slams over his stomachand
JEN CURRIN A Bat Unveiled In the museum of land mines,my acquaintance fans her wings.Outside the sparrows catch fire.A tree falls to its knees.I become the sudden murderer,unable to recognize the radishesof my hands. The dictionary shudders. Again I cannot bealone. What is left of beautyI sop up with a napkin, believingit a limited supply. My only reading materialgives in to the blaze. And now I burn the legsof the chair, lest they touchthe ground.
MICHAEL AIRD For Seamus stem entrancemeshed to the cold hollowwhere your words vicareda clock heatawhile, saturated forward like I tinkered victim mechanicsthe resemblance of kept recordsbricks through glass paneimprints soft tissue so much knotted truthhoisted as black flagsabove the antechamber, antiravelour impulse bundle exhaledwithout bloodshed silence hardens over unlooked forthe proof drive stood hinge to our previous alsoits graft welcome waitsto wave us in For Seamusappeared in CAROUSEL 19 (2006) — buy it here
ROBIN PATTERSON The Woods Behind my Father’s House I have been lost in these woods before.I have seen this tree, scarred and twisted,and not recognized it.My feet have paced this unfamiliar pathtripping over roots that were never there. The spaces between the trees are dark and forbidding.The ferns at my feet fill the unfamiliar forest floorand grow as high as my waist,hiding a whole other world under their fronds.I keep my hands close to my
ANNE BALDO Like Money Everyone Will Use You & It Won’t Even Matter Stuck on the tongue,sour,like the pillyou cannot swallow your wordsare meaningless asfragmented hieroglyphicsyou talk in the calligraphyof valentines — beautiful but wasted. So don’t apologizefor your absenceas you walk awaydon’t say remembering people is so hard. Reduce usto a mere glitch of the heart. I will wait for youbut in the arms of other men. Like Money Everyone Will Use You …appeared
BILL BISSETT ther was a strangr cum 2 town that longpurpul nite all th kiyots gone 2 sleepevreewun was krashd yu cudint see a thingth fog was sew cum in th smothring blankit th knarlee perls inth sky promising whatyu cud nevr get heer sum say ther was abarn door creek in th aweful moon lite sumherd a roostr crow way b4 dawn ther was astrangr cum 2
ALLISON CHOW Some Three Hours in the Evening of August Sixteenth When I Am Nineteen One of my grandfathers looks like a Chinese Dustin Hoffman. He has gotten more handsome with age. When we go out to restaurantson SaturdaysI open doors for himbecause he is decades olderthan I ambut morebecause my reverencefor him cannot be containedsilentlyor only within me. Really it is my honourto open doors for him. Some Three Hours in the Evening…appeared in
DUNJA LUKIC December 1992 I. It was in the shadows of a dark first winterwhen the stars were frozen in the night domeand even with our spinningwe couldn’t shake them from the skyheld our hungry mouths openwaiting for those falling universes to explode on our tongues expectant hoping our bellies would be swollen with stars. II. With wide seven year old eyes that same winter the sky was colorless it was snowing I saw stars
JOHN B. Lee Drugging the Fishes It seemsthe things we flushare drugging the fishesin New York City, for instancethere’s enough Prozacin the East Riverto keepthe herring happy as housewivesin sitcoms all seasonproblem is — they’ve lost theirinterest in spawning, soif and when the males come-a-milting(though they mostly come-a-tilting)they keep their eggsto themselves, their roe in sacks like bobblesthey’re so swim-dizzy they’ve lost all desireeven the words ‘oviparous,spontaneous myosis, external fertilization,egg vent’leave them cold-blooded …even the
BRIAN BURKE Hibiscus iguanas hide in the drain pipesof a twenty-foot walloutside our studio doorfeed on the hibiscuscamouflaged from gamekeepersintent on banishing themto the lush green golf coursebeside the ocean the iguana journey back hang on overhead palm branches bury themselves in small rock crevices dig out shaded caves near the shore & finally stretch their necks out of the drain-piped wall of rock cautious but dreaming also of rain of gamekeepers & of dinosaurs
D.N. SIMMERS Letting an Umbrella Open Into the Wind I let an umbrella
SOROUJA MOLL Office Corner Office Corner appeared in CAROUSEL 15 (2004) — buy it here
BÄNOO ZAN The Land of Orange Blossoms * You journey to me I circle your squarelike a pilgrim farewellto Kaaba Your womenin farmers’ market sell me herbs of memoryin floral dresses I’m a babyat their breasts drinking the milk of blood letting go of water Your mentoil in fields ofabundance smelling the difference between rice and books Relatives take me inknowing I’m notone of them Friends keep me aliveto confront them After all these yearsyou
KAMILA RINA Imprints Last night, my ass pressed against the sink, the dish drainer rattling behind me, my teeth against your shoulders, your arm holding me up, my skirt pushed up past my hip on one side, the fingers of your other hand moved inside me in an elegant dance. Like ballet underwater, the steps fanned out in all directions: point up, reach deep, tug forward toward my pubic bone, twist and turn, sweep to
KIRBY 3:52 PM It’s Wednesday(all this time thought it was Tuesday) adult peeps just off N. Sylvanialast booth on the right ajar construction worker tank jeans wide opencock juts out rigid hard raging lit by moaning straight porn breathtaking says nothing smokes transfixed on screen pretendsthey don’t see me enter kneel stare weep wonder imaginebefore god almighty living god in your mouthyour all of you given over to your godno holding back
KHASHAYAR MOHAMMADI Pillow’s Kiss (excerpted from Moe’s Skin) Pillow’s kiss past midnight’s stroke and doze down the fugueof highway tunes. Up, up and away — past mall-lit windows wemigrate between, bootleg DVDs and cider house blues wherehatred blossoms in plastic-bagged opacity, past the hooka-smokinggirls lustfully eyeing lustful men in blue.Feel like a god, but slip on Moe’s Skin.A new motto for massage chair afternoons:“Don’t frown! You’ll slip.”A single leaf behind an iPod case;a Djinn in
TANIS FRANCO I Regret My Actions Up Until Now I rescheduled too many times but I actuallydo like you. This night is reminding methat I want to get over my avoidantnature. Something about those steely cloudsoutside, the fact that my roses have persistentpests, and the man who shot people justhaving an ordinary dinner on the Danforthlast night. We were going to have dinnerthis week. Today, my perfect bedroom rugwas delivered and it stood outside in