CategoryIssue #4.1

That river’ll suck you up and spit you out Poem by Steph Airth At Thanksgiving and Christmas, my dad’s company truck trundles up under a patina of Mary Hill grit to take me back to where I’m from. Where I’m from is oh, just an hour or so east. You probably haven’t heard of it.

Ladybug Girls Poem by Charmaine Li In third grade, when the bell rings at 12:10, we dash out–– in our green tunic dresses of Scottish plaid, worn blue sweaters, and untucked shirts.   It’s the first warm sigh of spring and the big, big tree that stands behind the playground has arms and fingers that

Dreams of Perelman Poem by Quincy Arthur Planes of white, horizonless, like the muted orange of sunlight with eyes closed. The bedraggled Russian Grisha perched on the pointilist surface of a straight line extending forever that way towards the East if where I’m facing is North. Squinting doesn’t help. I’m drawn back to the tangible

Thinking of You on the way from German to 19th Century Lit. Poem by Katie Selbee We oldes Soules are, my dear; old as coverless volumes and bronze lamps with chain pulls, button-tufted arm-chairs with embroidered floral patterns and monstrous glass cabinets housing curious objects but o, o when we kiss you grip meine Haare