Evan Vandermeer

I promised myself
that when this plane lands
I will have something
to show for it, and given
these first rumblings
of high-altitude turbulence—
the seatbelt light
having just lit up like a Christmas tree—
I better hurry
and get something presentable down
before it’s too late. At least 
I can lose myself (thank you,
little pink pill) in the movie
playing on the back of the headrest
directly in front of me. Without headphones, 
it’s a largely silent film, largely because 
I’ve seen it enough
to hear the music and dialogue
in the back of my mind. And now,
the flight attendant wheels up
and offers an array of non-perishable snacks:
pretzels, wafers, or cookies, and like a fool
I choose the pretzels (a sad
last meal), but my wife is kind enough
to offer me one of her cookies, which 
I eat so quickly in a single bite
she can’t help but comment
on my inability to savor anything
but coffee, the only thing
I’ll slow down to enjoy. Right then—
as if on cue—Will Ferrell’s character
takes his own first sip of that black nectar
and grimaces in pain, almost as if 
he had swallowed a thumbtack.

EVAN VANDERMEER is an emerging writer with published poems in Grand Little Things, Analecta, Kingfisher, Modern Haiku, bottle rockets press, and Wales Haiku Journal, and more has been accepted for publication in forthcoming issues of McQueen’s Quinterly, hedgerow, Presence, and contemporary haibun online. He will graduate in May 2022 from the MA English program at Indiana University South Bend, where he lives with his wife, Megan.

DS Maolalai

it’s a beautiful evening.
a man in the street
puts his hand on a wall 
and throws up a whole
brass section orchestra
while sun sets its head 
against everything,
making stubble of dust
hung with five o’clock 
shadows. the street
turns its neck like a woman
with wonderful hair. the trees 
fill with red evening 
light and the sky is a tantrum. 
cars move like cows
being herded toward home. 
this man, so well lit, throwing up 
some dog’s breakfast, a start-stopping
jazz of trombones — you can tell 
he is digging up
harder than shovels. you can tell
his whole soul’s 
coming out. 

DS MAOLALAI has been nominated nine times for Best of the Net and seven times for the Pushcart Prize. He has released two collections, “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden” (Encircle Press, 2016) and “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” (Turas Press, 2019). His third collection, “Noble Rot” is scheduled for release in April 2022.

Javeria Hasnain

I’m radical. I see a pear growing 
in daylight, and am delighted for it. 
I imagine the soft pear in the thick of
moonlight, suddenly dewy, desirous
of a mouth. I imagine said mouth &
like that, I am back in the warm bed,
gazing at you the way a muntin gazes
at the full moon, with its smallness.

JAVERIA HASNAIN is a Pakistani poet from Karachi. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Margins, Gutter magazine, Superstition Review, and elsewhere.