Monthly Archives: January 2013
Unforeseen Trouble with Safety Goggles — Lauren Coe
In Biology class we stared at those swollen balloon cells. Pinched under glass all bled out, a dozen little fossils. Flat nuclei stretched like canvas, all the sad parts stuck on there labeled Red Blood Cell #3. They made me think of you. Remember when I cut my finger on the paring knife, my thumb … Continue reading
love song for male pattern baldness, the open bottle of Lunesta on a nightstand — Chloe Reichelt
Late nights you sleep thin and restless, your eyes rolling like odometers beneath lids too pulpy to still them. One day you will not wake up and you know this. In the mornings, you knot your own brightly colored noose over a white buttoned shirt. You grow older with vegetable frailty. Each morning the greens … Continue reading
Virginia — William Robison
Virginia took me walking down the railroad tracks the Rock Island line north of the trestle across Bayou Boeuf where Richard jumped in to avoid being crushed by the oncoming train I couldn’t have been more than three or four Virginia was as old as the Pyramids working for a white woman less than half … Continue reading
Barbed Wire, Electric — Sioned Curoe
When I was a child Climbing the rusty gate was an easy task To toughen small feet, soft hands Until I slipped Under barbed wire, electric Burning flesh, hair tangling When I was a child I knew blood was red in air Blue veins went somewhere else When the door tore my hand Flapping skin, … Continue reading
A Cold Christmas Somewhere — Jack Vian
It’s Christmas Eve and I’m still waiting for my first Yule stiff even though it’s, like, freezing cold in bundled rabbit fur and the stretch of spandex leopard print doesn’t cover the rent when my Santa’s sitting at home in our favorite motel room all nice and toddy warm while he unwraps Alyssa with his … Continue reading
The Cat on Page Ten (reading Animal Farm)
Bluebell howls vicious in an instant “Are the rats our brothers?” Pig asks, fat on wisdom he calls us comrades I belong to nothing but myself — a no-name feline curled between flanks He complains about lack of food bare bones, I feed on prey caught only with claws kibble belongs to the dogs Paw … Continue reading
Winter — Richard Stolorow
Unknown to the small blond boy in apartment one, the winter has already scratched with one cold day and one cold night the delicate surface of fall and left the mark of memory of all winters past. His footsteps are the determined stomps of young persistence and I lie listening until his mother with the … Continue reading
Bret — Jill Whitehouse
And if I die, give my liver to the crazy guy who lived the next house over, He drinks enough he could probably use it. True, he screams, and shoots, and plays the bugle. But he isn’t what they say he is, he isn’t the Devil. Continue reading
Taxidermy — Jill Whitehouse
Posed natural to last steel rod through chest, eyes of glass fill sockets —still empty— don’t betray memories of brine in lungs or sutures. People declare their love, never ask where the rest went. Continue reading
Coe Review 