35.1 Summer/Fall 2022


Menarche

J.J. Starr McClain

No one said much / just / this makes virgins, that // makes pollution.


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction

Mount

Matthew Mastricova

I had not yet labeled myself but felt the pull of men irresistible. I was drawn to a boy and examined every tether but the core one, that I wanted him to feel the same for me and I knew he didn’t. I spent the entirety of that year mourning our potential. I was prepared for Elegy Month.

ARS POETICA AFTER ANDY GOLDSWORTHY

Janelle Tan

only the two rocks holding each other know / where they find balance.

Women's Health

Bailey Cunningham

Shelly is fifteen years old, and she is alive today. Shelly is only sometimes alive. Sometimes she is dead.

The Doorbell

Candice Wuehle

After Graham stopped returning my texts, I started leaving little parts of myself all over the Internet. In his early twenties, especially, Graham left doorways to himself everywhere—not just the normal abandoned social portals of MySpace and Friendster, but also a blog with a cursor shaped like a hot pink mouth. When I clicked on an entry, the disembodied lips smacked. Sickened, I kept clicking as the computerized sucking noise pulled me into page after page of journal entries, photos, digital check-ins at bars where he’d time-stamped his arrival.

Baby It’s Bold Outside | Gelish®

Noel Quiñones

Call it oxymoron, where to shed is to gain worship, / polish escaping into the hidden temples of my teeth.

Clouds and Us

Rodrigo Toscano

we can all agree / no jobs for clouds / unconscious drifters

EVERYBODY AT THE SAME TIME IS BEGINNING TO UNDERSTAND THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A SELF

Joshua Jennifer Espinoza

You love to see it—discrete individual units realizing they are not / at all that. Like a grass field caught in wind, finally understanding / its purpose, I breathe with the sound of God breathing.

Weather Sonnet #4

Anya Ventura

I get a haircut and scrub the stove, feeling unpeeled / from the old terror.

Pigeon Cove Harbor

Martha Webster

clean of me, my rod, / creel, sturdy / shoes, jack knife.

Minotaur

Amy Roa

On my swallowed stone, I painted the weather inside a zebra stripe.

Menarche

J.J. Starr McClain

No one said much / just / this makes virgins, that // makes pollution.

’92 Volvo 240

D.S. Waldman

How the distances collapse when / moving at speed, several instances of relapse folded until one prolonged scene, an / abrupt start from sleep.

God Chooses the Wheelbarrow

Dustin M. Hoffman

Online Exclusive fiction from Dustin Hoffman.

Drop of the Sea

Brigitte Lewis

When she is young, the name “Mary” is very common. If Social Security records for the ranked popularity of baby names in any given year went back to the first century, “Mary” would be number one on the list for hundreds of years. Sometimes, when she is meeting a person for the first time, they ask her if she likes her name. Sure, she replies. It turns out they usually have an aunt or a great-aunt, a teacher or a boss, named Mary of whom they are not very fond.

Shift

Edie Quinn

"Do you ever feel like/ you're just living/ the same day / over/ and over / and over again."

FINDING PHANTASIA

Sara Deniz Akant

But come on, even Eve ate a dead baby dino. / Adam was still munching on his apples like a dweeb.

SELF-PORTRAIT AS SURGICAL MASK ON REARVIEW MIRROR

Timothy Liu

though I do // look pretty good / slung over // where a pair // of hot pink / fuzzy dice // used to hang—

Sky Islands

Don Stap

In early May we are driving south from Phoenix on Interstate 10. The land in every direction is sparsely vegetated—saguaro cactus, organ pipe cholla, barrel cactus, and mesquite. Dust blows across this big sandbox. The sky is hazy. To the east, in the distance, are what appear to be massive heaps of dirt left over from some grand construction project gone wrong. But this is a trick of light.

The Middle

Sandra Simonds

As long as I have been old enough to understand what the middle class is, it has been described as “shrinking.”

Oceans and Mountains: Dissecting Bashō’s Hokku

Darcy Jay Gagnon

Online Exclusives non-fiction from Darcy Jay Gagnon.

With the p.t. on the first day

Kevin McIlvoy

Could I not want / the justice and / the sentence and / the jail of a goal?

SONG WITH MUSCLE MILK

Sara Deniz Akant

Take this cryptic correspondence as – a sound bite skirts my wonder.

The Cost of the Show

Jessica Lee Richardson

Online Exclusive fiction from Jessica Lee Richardson.

houston living room

Jonathan Chan

he is remembered // like a stoic painting. it looms over / his organ, static from years // untouched, nesting nutcracker
 / and country hymnal.


From the Archives

Receipt

Ian Spencer Bell

Everything / is for sale. A blue-eyed boy / knocks his head against my hip, / reaches for the Styrofoam form / I hold in my hand. A halo or a hat, / I say and put it on his head, / watch it fall around his neck.

34.2 Winter/Spring 2022

New Online Exclusives Featuring Megan Milks, Rebecca Hazelton, David Shields, and more.

Two Poems: American Travelogue & Life Drawing

Caroline Crew

You see the flower's form leak into itself. A self. Some things in America still make sense. I open my junk mail, Disney red. Your family. Liquid uttered out into the night freezes your dreams undone. Veracity leaves its whispers. Make an orchestra instead. Every bitten breath

Somewhere Michael Schumacher

Jensen Beach

There is a man in India who is every morning attacked by crows. I heard this on the radio not long ago. This man, he once rescued a crow that had become disoriented in his garden. And since then when the man emerges from his house, crows descend from the trees nearby to swoop at him and to peck. The birds have been attacking him for three years.