Archive for January, 2015

Self-Portrait as Talcum Powder by A. J. Huffman

Posted in A. J. Huffman with tags on January 28, 2015 by Scot

Fluttering body of silken white,
in softness I settle against whatever
skin is readily available—
a stark vision of surrender. I have become
anonymous facilitator of motion,
silently absorbing friction
and occasional bodily fluids. I swallow
my fear of dissipation bitterly, even
as it happens. My touch—
unnoticed and unmissed—is nothing
more than a moment of memory’s passing,
a tickling fancy, too easily replaced
the next morning.

Yellow & Green Make Blue by James Babbs

Posted in James Babbs with tags on January 28, 2015 by Scot

today
for the first time this year
I saw the yellow crop duster
swooping down from the sky
it flew low over the corn
before making the sharp turn and
avoiding the power lines
I thought about
how quickly time goes by
the way the days rush past and
nothing lasts for very long
then I thought about
the beautiful girl who lived on the corner
in the big green house
how many years ago
she’s a middle-aged woman now
soon
they’ll be harvesting the corn again
trucks loaded with grain
driving up and down the roads
leaving the empty fields behind
summer turning into fall again
the wind will suddenly shift
the snow come falling down

Prom Dress by David Dominé

Posted in David Dominé with tags on January 28, 2015 by Scot

That night when I pulled into the gravel driveway, the moon hung low over the apple orchard. Remembering the smooth fabric of Anne Spicer’s dress, I loosened the velvet bow tie at my throat and took a ragged breath. The sting of peach schnapps lingering in the back of my throat, I saw him standing at the back door. But I lowered my head and went in anyway. The belt was lying in its usual spot on the dining room table. Nearby, crumpled up on the floor, lay one of Anne Spicer’s dresses. He must have found it under my bed. It was the one she forgot to take with her earlier that afternoon after we scrambled to put our clothes back on when my father’s car crept up the drive.

It was the last time my father beat me.
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