Upon my arrival at Coe College, creative writing never took the academic spotlight. I simply assumed that it would become something to keep my mind buoyant during my introductory science days, sloshing through snowdrifts of material before I finally reached those courses that piqued my interest. I was completely unaware of our magazine or how … Continue reading
Category Archives: Fall 2016
Blog Post / Fall 2016 / Issues / Poetry / Poetry 2016 / Uncategorized / Volume 47
Text to the Centurion Whose Boot Is on My Throat–Nick Conrad
Please re-read your taser’s manual, since I am sure you did not intend for me to be nearly paralyzed. While it is an honor for me to have licked the sole of your boot, I regret my teeth were unable to remove the gum from your left heel. I know my current lack of response … Continue reading
Bailiwick–Jonathan Andersen
Wheelhouse was never part of my father’s lexicon though I do remember him using the synonym bailiwick; I think he liked the click at the end, the slight touch of baritone drama in Cracking down on guys like that (referring to a local wife beater) would definitely be part of my bailiwick. He said it … Continue reading
1976–Jonathan Andersen
Everything was as dirty as a carwash bathroom and pop-tops cut the light littering the sides of Route 1, in those days still a long path of concrete sections we kathunked along in our Galaxie 500, my father driving, alive, the sweat- -stain halo burned into the upholstery above his curly head. I had no … Continue reading
Omen–Chet Corey
That old groundhog of war within us came out of its silos and bunkers to look around. And all who saw it lifted it up– and what had crawled out of us would not crawl back in. Continue reading
The Violence of Memory–Daniel Fitzpatrick
on Nunscape, by Leonora Carrington Feathered devildactyl mothers its big blue egg. Give me a big blue omelet, breakfast full of food coloring, the kind kids like that mortifies the mother tongue. A pteratopped column plants one painted corner while the sea scene flirts with fluttering off on the gale-grey jubilant swell, like a washed … Continue reading
The Express–Anton Jones
1. Stake the cross, flying needle patches those office-grey slacks Called the seamstress, fled his roost he traded clothes to make tracks While she stitched up pants to fill a gap, always coming back 2. Fast letters and grounded flight and problems flee open road Drunkards drowning in tankards but he skips pebbles to next … Continue reading
