Issue 34
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Bedtime Story in a Foster Home Somewhere in California (1974) by Cerissa DiValentino
Mom told everyone how you were born in somebody’s living room in San Francisco while her feet were held down; she was telling your dad to sing while she pushed; so he sang “You Are My Sunshine” and then said mom looked blue because he was on acid; you were born blue; that’s what your dad said; blueberry; baby blue; blue like mom when your dad was supposed to take you to the park but ran away instead; our mom is a good woman; I know she tried; she hit her head when she was nine; did you know that?;
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Ripe Fruit by Katie Mitchell
I am seated on the hard chair in the therapist’s office with my then-husband to my left. The therapist leans back against his own chair, relaxed, taking notes. My husband leans back comfortably as well. I fidget incessantly from the left to the right, twisting my wedding rings around my finger repeatedly while he speaks loudly and clearly with ease. It is our first appointment, and we discuss the affair I know he is having. But in this office, it is not an affair. Platonic friendship is the chosen narrative here. I cry when I explain why I cannot swallow that story.
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Two Poems by Manuel Vilas “Vampire Apprentice” and “Stockholm” Translated from Spanish by John Yohe
Vampire Apprentice
(La Caleta, Cádiz)I don’t remember anything anymore, and I am gratefully alone.
I like to walk along the beach with an ice-cream in hand, a Magnum,
white chocolate, sometimes I think of myself as a benevolent vampire,
indignant about the strict morals of proud subterraneans,
and I slip into the beach movie theatre, and watch whatever,
and when I leave I drink a lemonade and watch the stars on the sea
and think that the actor in the movie who played Pablo Neruda
was more handsome and taller than the real Neruda, -
Two Poems by Immanuel Mifsud “The Beginning of December” and “Behind Your Door” Translated from the Maltese by Ruth Ward
THE BEGINNING OF DECEMBER
I dream
of sleeping in tepid water
as I did many winters ago;
of a hot bath,
of afternoons,
nights
of lovemaking in water,
of sleep,
of shapes emergent from liquid;
of the dark,
of silence,
myself and water:
water and myself
becoming one.
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Self-Addressing: A Bilinguacultural Poem by Yuan Changming
In English, the speaker always uses
A proper pronoun to address self
In Chinese, the speaker calls self
More than one hundred different names
In E, there is a distinction between
The subject and object case of self
In C, there is no change in writing
Be it a subject or an object
In E, the writer spells self with one
Single straight capitalized letter
In C,
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As Jay DeFeo Paints by Lenore Myers
“Land of Plenty” by Vera Illiatova
Deathrose – The White Rose – The Rose (1958-1966)
1
Did your daily attention to paint
its weight
its hue in changing light
its sculptural bulges
its chasms
make your painting more
like words?
2
I start in the figure
as you never did
although the surface was of immediate concern
you started in the thing
itself
Paintbrush between your teeth
3
What defines the figure
Who says what ground
The art of FUNK
The surface all fucked up
or
The process of fucking up
into revelation
4
You break it the
surface
never lies
right with you
5
By weight,
