Flying Island

A trilogy by Kate Duffy Sim Tiger and Monkey in Love We loved before time, danced in the crystalline black Of limitless space, Shot upward in arcs, twined in a happy helix, Merged, melted, and fell. I broke away, spread into a web of pink pearls, Caught you as you dropped. You shattered my strand, pearls plummeting toward the void. You caught them, caught me, Tossed me toward the Light. I scattered among the stars. you visited each, And we danced and laughed, star to star, pearl by pearl, Until it was time And we were called down to this lonely blue opal, This lonely planet, Forgot who we were as we donned our cloaks of clay And went separate ways. But time after time I knew I was missing you. Somehow I just knew. You must have known too when we collided that day In our cloaks of clay. You asked me to dance. You reached out, your cloak fell back, And your light shone through. I knew it was you, and you knew it was me, too. And we danced and lau...

Turtle Death by Hannah Essink A lie would paint that I want it not Sometimes a fabricated portrait is better Than dropping down the mask to see The beautifully hideous truth of turtle death Society conditioned me for failure Grown-ups then before I came to that time All told me the same, encouraged the day dreaming Of my turn someday - they did not talk about turtle death Someday is turning to no day so slowly But the dream is not a complete lie Which makes it all the worse – true for some But may very well never be for me thanks to turtle death My dream is breaking – why is this so? Is it a tasteless joke shoved down my throat? But no indeed, there is a cloud of blindness on the world today Times have changed and people with it – turtle death What is this hope in my soul that keeps rising? I do not heed the declarations of society as it creeps closer I see it and sometimes despair, but ever I strive for hope I wish to rise above it all and defeat this turtle ...

Old Scars and Parasites by George Kalamaras Let me return to the arctic fox. The walruses off the coast of East Greenland molt their skin each August to rid themselves      of old scars and parasites. I wish it were as easy to begin each day. I wish I could leave the imprint in the bed, not keep recalling depth by sleep.    The walruses can descend up to sixty feet to feed but, after five minutes, return to  the     surface for air. I consider how the forest rishis mastered the breath and what else they must have learned      from the sad hair of trees. The roadside shadow billows with woodstove smoke. It has been a long spring, summer, and fall, fearing—as we have—the cold. Let me discern the arctic fox surviving on the spoils of bears. You can hear their whimpering a long way off, as if from the blood-stained snout of a     trapped fifth season. Bio: George Ka...

Creative Nonfiction by Barbara Davis I stepped into a long, low building at the Nazi death camp, Majdanek. Near the door a weathered wooden sign said, “Bad und Desinfektion.”At the other end of the building was a chimney.  A few steps inside the gas chamber was a cement swimming pool for children to play in while the adults got undressed for their showers. The shower heads were still in place. At the very last moment, the children were gathered up and thrown like footballs over the heads of their parents and the door slammed shut. There was a gas-proof peephole on the door where SS men stood and watched for the 18 or so minutes it took everyone to die. The glass on the peephole had been smashed.   After the killing, forced laborers began the task of separating the bodies, putting them on carts, and sending them to the dissection room to be searched for gold teeth and jewelry. The walls and ceiling of the huge room bore sea-blue stains from the Zyklon B gas. Two ca...

Why I Love Ham Salad Sandwiches With Baloney By T.D. Richards In the cassock of her feed sack apron, Mom moved in the kitchen with sacramental intent, bending under the cupboard to withdraw the oiled meat grinder, her mother’s wedding gift. As her acolyte, I clamped the grinder to the counter while she chopped chubs of baloney and cranked them into mince meat to mix with sweet pickle relish and creamy mayonnaise and soda crackers that crunched and crackled through the razor edged cutting plate. She raised white Wonder bread asleep in its warren to chaperone the ham salad spread made with baloney. I got the meat grinder when mom died nd my sister got the recipes I knew by heart. I’m told there may be a final Feast to come. If so, I implore that Mom be chosen to make ham salad sandwiches with baloney and I be invited to eat them ad infinitum. Bio: T.D. Richards is a freelance writer who has written poetry as a way of sharing his lifelong observations from w...

Manifest Destiny by George Kalamaras Feel free to induce me. Press your breath against my breath. Stick your finger down the lorikeet’s throat and expel the sleep medicines. Ask me for a blanket and I will produce a thread. We can each hold an end and vibrate a song in praise of pioneers. The Conestoga part of my heart can only let you in a little. I will gladly feed you beans and lard, watch the flames pony-prance untamed       shadows across your face. We have the same connective tissue inside our more-than-private bodies. It resembles a very long river, difficult to cross. If I were an antelope, you might be a prairie hare. If I a sheep, you, an Australian cattle dog. We have known one another throughout many incarnations. One time I came to you as lightning, you, the fierce, almost-soothing rain. Bio: George Kalamaras, Poet Laureate of Indiana, is the author of seven books of poetry and seven chapbooks, including Kingdom of Throat-Stu...

words away (in three parts) by Ryan Frisinger words away once upon a time, i moved down south, met a girl who never shut her mouth, so i finally had to kiss her words away. words away, pt. 2 we crossed the world in maps and pictures, goddess shrine was my bedroom fixture, book of poems and telephones, we were never more than words away. words away, pt. 3 until, the ghost and star of both tattoo and heart pointed north to where a happy ending, happiness in need of mending, happy that it’s finally ending are only words away. Bio: Ryan Frisinger is a professor of English, holding an M.F.A. in Writing from Lindenwood University. He is also an accomplished songwriter, whose work has been featured in numerous television shows, such as America's Next Top Model and The Real World . His non-musical writing has appeared in such publications as Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, The MacGuffin, and Punchnel's. He resides in Fort Wayne, India...

Kinnell at Butler U., Feb. 6, 1989 by Dan Carpenter Perfect poet’s presence      Galway limp white dress shirt dull brown hair finger-combed raking his brow heavy hands and gentle voice a seamy-faced Gus Hall drunk on angels I drink in his beauty for free in a lecture hall packed with lit students under duress           signed in        penned and I contemplate the abstract and the concrete along a straight diagonal line –           at the far end Kinnell       pawing his glasses           singing of swifts and frogs rescued           when one has been a long time alone . . .           at the near end      a row ahead of me       ...

by Keith Krulik             We all have obstacles to climb, personal barriers or demons to get over, physical or mental challenges to overcome. These are the things that build character, that turn followers into leaders. The question I pose is this: How much can you endure before you cease to build character, before you don’t build into a leader and are yourself destroyed? How much can you take?             When my headaches began over two decades ago, I felt my body as a blanket, a thick, heavy quilt. I hung on a clothesline as Evil stood beside me, wielding a baseball bat, inflicting pain every few seconds, over and over. Back then the pain was just beginning; improbably, it seemed less intense as now. Over time and the continuous beatings, the blanket has worn thinner.   In those eight thousand days, I have transformed to a thin sheet, something even a homeless pe...