Chloe N. Clark

It is always the same stories that we tell
of women with fish tails and hair
caught full of seaweed and we
never remember how the feel
of water constant and pressing
must have been. She saw
villages overtaken by waves,
she imagined constellations of star
fish, and when she wept it tasted
the same as the sea and so she never
knew when she was actually sad.
Her fingers caressed the bones of sailors,
drowned in storm or mutiny, and she
thought that men were only skeletons, and she
wondered how they danced, if they clicked
and clattered as they did. She fell in love
with a shark once, but the shark left her
behind, movement was life, forward was
breath. She spent one morning watching
the sky filter down to her and then she
was given the choice between eternity under
and a moment with the sun. And in the
flash of dissolving, of filled with stars, of glow,
she thought she remembered land, how it
was to feel the earth turning beneath her
feet, like dancing.

CHLOE N. CLARK is a MFA candidate in Creative Writing & Environment. Her work has appeared such places as Rosebud, Abyss & Apex, Menacing Hedge, and more. She loves all chupacabras, bakes cupcakes, and likes learning odd facts about magicians. Follow her @PintsNCupcakes

Janet Barry

Tricks Man comes
with lies on his feet,
he is naming all the babies,
telling all the stories,

word play stories,
word play tricks

in Tricks Man’s mouth —

Mother Coyote, feed your babies
from the rubbish bin —

Father Fox,
lie down hungry —

the chickens all live
in Lie Down House,
Assembly Line House,

the eggs all tumble
to Tricks Man’s mouth,

for he is eating all the babies, swallowing
all the green-grass tell-tale stories,

and Caw, Caw, Caw,

no-one left but Old Man Crow,
Caw, Caw laughing,
          laughing.

JANET BARRY is a musician and poet with works in numerous journals and anthologies, most recently Looseleaf Tea, Two Hawks Quarterly, Edge and The Fourth River. She serves yearly as a judge for Poetry Out Loud, and has received several Pushcart and a Best of the Net nomination. Janet holds degrees in organ performance and poetry. To see more of her work, please visit jbarrypoetry.com

Glen Armstrong

She’ll be coming around more often.
          She will blast through
          the mountain.

She was away learning that night’s
          ever-pending arrival
          was at once a perpetually

          receding destination.
          (It was all very Zen.)

She’ll be catching us in our underwear.

Her six white horses will take turns
          gesturing with their skulls,
          their majestic jaws like
          the bows of ships.

That young couple with the dreads
          and foul-mouthed toddler

          will spread the word
          and organize a potluck.

Once, the forged iron ring framed
          an absence over which
          we’d never quite recover,

          and the worn patch on the lawn
          led to another worn patch
          of lawn and so on.

There will still be temptations
          and paths leading
          into the woods,

          but for a little while
          we will listen
          to her crimson songs
          and feel blessed,

          to be part of something
          bigger than ourselves.

We will forgive the blacksmith’s daughter
          for showing up
          in a miniskirt,

          homemade tentacles
          sewn to her tight sweater,
          feathers woven
          into her long dark hair,

          for drinking too many
          wine coolers

          and calling her boyfriend
          on her cellphone
          in the middle of the event

          to complain that,
this feathered octopus person

          is not as I expected
          her to be.

GLEN ARMSTRONG holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He also edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters.