Stage & Screen:
Dakota County by Craig Moeckly
Under a Calm Wave, Not Killing Myself by Sola Damon
Iphigenia Recounts the Sacrifice by Georgia White
Waiting for Things to Die by Emile Estrada
Rafael kept picking at the scab on his knee until it came off. Blood dripped down his shin and he wiped it with the inside of his shorts, then he covered his knee with his right hand. He knew if his grandmother saw the blood she would make a big deal out of it. Old women have a way of doing that.
– Waiting for Things to Die
It wasn’t so bad when it happened.
That’s what I’m supposed to say here, right? He was a good father, really. He loved me. He didn’t want to kill me.
– Iphigenia Recounts the Sacrifice
A game to see who can hold theirbreath the longest. Admittedly,sometimes I feel like it’s easier to
see myself as a percentage.
– Statistically Speaking
I felt guilty I didn’t feel guilty.
I bathed in the amethyst blue glass
of the high apse pooling sunlight…
– Mass in Harlem
What patience these two, gray-blue
words have evinced, sentenced at times to years
of dormancy, like the too-heavy-to use crystal
goblets we keep in their original box…– For Me–Desideratum
Looking back at the paintings, I wonder if contentment comes from embracing only the parts of our lives we choose to put inside picture frames.
– Under a Calm Wave, Not Killing Myself
I do, like it just happened last week or something. You ever known any other farmer’s wife, or any woman for that matter, climb up top a windmill for something?
– Dakota County
pronounced like a song or harmonious reading
of the Psalm; a prayer I have recited
like a lifelong acquaintance.
– Your Name
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from the archives:
As we got older and more aware of the differences between us, things shifted. She spoke to her mother on the day of the presidential election and came back a little more distant. My brown hand in her white palm seemed a plague to her. She turned away while I spoke of all the new things I was learning about my heritage, my roots, my culture.read more
I took off my reading glasses and put on my far-sighted glasses. She came into better focus. Yes, I could now see that she was trembling. Her eyes were glassy with fear. “But Martha,” I said, “it’s dangerous to run around with a loaded gun unless you really need it,” I said.read more
In America, I learned to translate
강아지풀, 나팔꽃, and 연꽃 2
not into puppy grass, trumpet flower, and kite bloom
but green bristlegrass, morning glory, and lotus,
which is to say, I learned to conceal isolation
behind blossoms of language
& wear the glazed petals on my chest
like a foreign prince
as badges of heritage.
I will stop wearing a coat in February, even if the gusts are gusting and frost is on the grass by the bus stop, because I can’t belong to the coats-in-summer people, can’t run different forever. I want to be in the world of the people who go to the beach, who go on vacations, who have lime green shorts and eat lime green popsicles, not wearing avocado-green coats puffy and fat and thick.read more
Since Juno, though, she had a flicker, a sudden luminosity – in ways she’d never guessed. She cooked in nothing but aprons and sometimes her tall black boots, if she felt peppy. She braised, poached, roasted, sautéed, flambéed. She chopped, julienned, blended, pureed, whipped – appetizers, entrees, cocktails, desserts, the off-the-cuff amuse bouche. Juno’s soothing voice blossomed over the speaker on her phone, and she picked up a knife and slid it into celery stalks and sweet potatoes and plump, ripe olives stuffed with juicy garlic cloves.read more
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We are currently open for original artwork for our summer issue and also book reviews! Stay tuned for news about this year’s Honeybee Prize coming soon!!
© 2022 Lindsey Morrison Grant