Issue: 2013

Like—who?—a Zennist Who is lit up by a chunk of the mundane— Shinkichi Takahashi eternally burning seeing the baby’s Turd afloat in the communal bath— I’m walking past the greyhounds’ owners’ house When a tinkling chord from their portico Boards me. I … Continue Reading

The children ignore you submissively waiting in place in the sunny kitchen. They skip past you, an ornament in a bowl. The father, on the other hand, from the instant he lays eyes on you, leers hungrily at your buxom figure and blushing skin. He would … Continue Reading

I am sorry, mi amore Platanus; all the trees hanging over the river on the corner, sweet locust and sycamore marching up the steep stream bed to escape the rising tide. I didn’t save you when propane tanks, popping up like otters, played in the river’s … Continue Reading

A few weeks ago, I sat in the Fresh Side in Amherst, ruminating over the tea choices. Local author and professor of creative writing at Bard College, Jedediah Berry, was meeting me there to talk about writing and his very successful novel The Manual of … Continue Reading

When I was young, my friend said, I have a geographical tongue – and opened wide to let me examine a map cracked deep into pink sponge, roads laid out in the whale-belly of her mouth. At the same time, my fingers would go numb, turn white. I rubbed the … Continue Reading

Officer, I’ve told you exactly what happened. I’ve been here all day and, frankly, I don’t appreciate being treated like a criminal. Now, I’ve answered all your questions, filled out a report, and signed my statement. What more could you possibly want … Continue Reading

Dad was dying. I was the only one of the children without a steady job and so the obvious choice to fly down to Florida and navigate him through to the end. The morning after I arrived at his condo, he entered the hospital for the last time. There were … Continue Reading

No more than the bird with piercing voice do you stake my heart, the dumb drum that feels its own concentric pain, no more Then the bird with piercing voice stakes a wider, colder claim than yours, to which I’m bound but no more than the bird With pier … Continue Reading

If you make Your decision How am I to argue? A Mite with no knees. But I beg a plea That will go heard or unheard. The Moon gleams White And has no record for Keeping score But crosses in Her timely fashion As the Spider whirls its thread For foster fl … Continue Reading

Wind, a branch broken glass, but still cloud on the horizon where a line of people walk bent thick & thin, walk from what they left, but there is no where- they-are-going-to. One foot presses down, hurts or slips, weighs more than can be lifted. Th … Continue Reading

Susan Stinson is the Writer in Residence at Forbes Library in Northampton, Massachusetts, and the author of Belly Songs, Fat Girl Dances with Rocks, Venus of Chalk, and Martha Moody. Her upcoming book, Spider in a Tree (Small Beer Press, Oct 2013), is … Continue Reading

shredding the barn, lining up tiny red blue green toy soldiers for sale. The grasses have dried to flame , the stairs are dust and customers roam all the rooms picking up, putting down books and cups, silks and soft eider pillows. Even the mountain bey … Continue Reading