Issue 34
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Roots by Benjamin Balthaser
You pull the turnip from the black,
almost frozen ground and show me
the roots, still unshrouding from
their wet tangle of soil. They startle,
these dense webs, they aren’t
tentacles or long spindly arms — the roots
feather forth, ghostly, like the white fans
of fish at the bottom of oceans. Ever since
your new job out on the oil fields,
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This is Not a Photo of My Mom By Lindsay Lee Wallace
This is Not A Photo of My Mom
By Lindsay Lee Wallace
My mom Debbie would have been 67 today. I’m eating scrambled eggs in a green vinyl booth, listening to a little girl across the linoleum count down the minutes until she turns eight while sparkly letters sway on springs atop her festive headband and wish the entire diner a Happy Birthday. She encircles her trove of blueberry silver dollar pancakes with her arms, protecting them from the greedy hands of the other kids packed into her booth and declaring,
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Originally, All Brown Eyes by Emma DePanise
Did my mother dream in phone
conversations? Land lines, fingers twirling
spiral cord connected to receiver.
Did my grandmother dream in hand
scrawled letters? Her cursive exuding formal
grace they don’t teach anymore.
Last night, I dreamt in videos, holding
a phone, swiping through something
like home movies. My younger sister
and I in Iceland (never been), our heads
on the floor of a cottage,
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I Supplicate to the Gauze Panther by Ryan Bollenbach
Jealous of the marsh
And what it could contain
I asked to join the Gauze Panther in Their house
I wanted to talk
I wanted help
To conduct a rite
To stop the green multiplying inside me
I did not love the marsh then
Felt something more elemental
As I secret-lapped the blood
Dripping from the eyes of the bronze statue
Risen from the marsh’s chest
The metal-tongue sting awakened me from dreams
With a strange liquid on my fingertips
The similarity of my pink tongue to the panther’s
To a brain peaking from skull split
Kept me writing in the night
The wind snaked into my tent
Letting in the alcoholic dark
I obscured exploring what abuts it
I needed a subject to anchor my verbs
To what could be seen
The Gauze Panther took me in deeper that night
Built extensions on the wall around us
Put duct tape over every open window
So we could spend all day watching
Documentaries about the Anthropocene
Inside I became a Trojan horse
A catalyst for my green disease
Primed to be taken tongue first
By the next smoke-haunted explorer
Hungry for a new life
The panther and I sat together in our hut and fatted up
One-hundred and sixty-seven finches joined us
For the centuries of our gab session
Their little bird lungs bubbled up like stars
And in the passing time
The big bang exploded around us
We drank beers and watched through the window
The bird bones dried in the sun
With them we made a xylophone
So we could speak with our feathered friends forever
I was scared we would run out of yellow yarn to coat our mallets
I was scared we would run out of sheet music to play at their wake
I was scared the austerity program would take me over from inside
But the panther’s pink tongue kept me present
The sound of tongue lapping water from turbid pond
Bounced off the hut’s wooden walls
Changing in pitch with every shift around a corner
I couldn’t place that sound inside of anything else
I couldn’t remember why I left my family
I dropped a clean plate with silver rims at dinner
And the summer split the domestic bliss
Into forty-million shards of enamel
The silence that came over us
Lasted the next forty-million years
Ryan Bollenbach is a writer and musician living in Houston,
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Infinite Tigers by Lucian Mattison
Two tigers lurk the garden, paw doorknobs open.
I climb out a window amid the panic, fill the truck
with a laptop, towel, armful of homegrown
ghost peppers, picked amid the scramble.
Tigers, all sinew and stripe, spill out the window
after me, force me back inside the house.
I latch locks, shut panes, but they keep finding new doors,
more ways in to feed the loop of their hunt.
Apparently, this is my ideal self. He, who risks
being torn apart so that he may pick the fruits
he was really looking forward to eating.
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A Panther on TV by Ryan Bollenbach
The Gauze Panther watches
My nose and tongue
Taste-testing the humid air reflexively
Suddenly I want meat
I let the ants walk up my tongue
Like I might eat them
Bend my tongue muscles
To make a sacred bench in memorial
For the late golden toad they have eaten
The ants call my bluff
Sit on my bench
Play chess
Eat junk food
Wander through the cavern of my nose
To lay in the breeze of the ceiling fan
I’ve mounted on my uvula
To not shred them on my canines
Is the struggle against instinct
I didn’t realize I hungered for
Until I passed
Into the marsh’s sunroom
And held back my every sneeze
Later I saw a program playing silently
In the screen of a TV
Floating on a pond’s algae surface
It was the Gauze Panther in youth
Stalking through the rain
They stopped to swipe a human baby
From its crib by an open window
A fresh baked pie sat steaming on the sill
In that black and white animated dream
The panther brought teeth to neck
As silent as a final Earthly wish
For bustling glaciers
The panther stopped
When that bare throat cooed ma ma
As the panther debated
The shadow of a cross
Grew long overtop the babe’s brow
If a child was swiped
And there was no one there to see it
Would that panther still a horror be?