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Breath
& Shadow
Spring 2013
Volume 10 Issue 2
Withdrawal by Ani Keaten
My limbs heavy like magnets
attracted to the earth’s core
My arms like granite—
My back, a twig,
trembles.
I know each rib intimately
Its size, shape and placement
Click here to read Ani Keaten’s poem
Tourette by A.K. Duvall
I know they first found you in France, in days when asylums were
warehouses, narcotics were medicines, and quacks created concoctions to
cure the ill. Lead into gold, inspired by tales of Midas and men,
mediocre medicine made by surgeons who sought money. And like mice,
they made feasts of open corpses during surgery, and broke their bread
with bile, to tinker with the innards of organs they knew little about,
like modern children dissecting cats killed for the classroom.
Click here to read A.K. Duvall’s essay
Again By Jennifer Ruth Jackson
Your touch stark, electric
A million bells and whistles
Strong hands caressing me
Defibrillator paddles bouncing
My body to life
Click here to read Jennifer Ruth Jackson’s poem
One More Needle In The Haystack By W. R. Hilary
You keep your eyes on the tarmac. You must always be silent. You must
never cry. You must be brave when they catch you and pull both of your
legs so that the sharp branch cuts through the black fabric of your
uniform and reddens the flesh of your thighs. You mustn't shriek then
and you should never blush. Keep your head down. Write neat sentences
in your school book and pay attention. For God’s sake don’t talk. Don’t
fight. Don’t get in trouble. Don’t get sent outside. Don't get noticed.
Click here to read W.R. Hilary’s short story
3 Tankas by Sergio Ortiz
Benghazi at dawn
recalling
a peaceful dream
the autumn wind moans
through a crack in the window
Click here to read Sergio Ortiz’s poems
My Hair Dresser Stole My Mojo By Misti Shupe
The whisk of the scissors drops chunks of hair to the floor. My mind
races for a possible do-over. Can you glue hair back on? I can’t look
at myself in the mirror or meet Melissa’s eyes. I don’t want her to see
my regret.
Click here to read Misti Shupe’s creative non-fiction piece
Elegy for James Eagan Holmes By Jordan Jamison
Look at you, Television Monkey, with your Vicodin jive and orange hair,
shocking as Bukowski is shocking-violence is cool, fast, and mildly
tragic; Less than two weeks of fame-one day for each soul-they are
calling you Bozo in the bars as they eat their peanuts and pretzels.
Click here to read Jordan Jamison’s poem
The Jungle by William Ward
“Any chance I could jump ahead and pay for these smokes real fast?”
The guy in front of me had a cartful of groceries and I thought, “just one pack of cigarettes — he won’t mind.”
But when he said, “not in this checkout line,” I blinked at his
unsmiling face and almost said, “you prick,” but I heard a few jungle
noises and thought, “uh-oh, not good.”
I knew where that could take us.
Click here to read William Ward’s flash fiction
Travels of Lip Balm by Shawn Jacobson
The drier door opens and I fall out
after traveling the drum.
Unopened, my essence stays with me
instead of covering clothes with which I journey.
He picks me up, his daughter will want this.
He returns to folding clothes.
Click here to read Shawn Jacobson’s poem
Into A Memory By Robert Kingett
When I was little, I did not wander as a cloud. I floated on one. I
have to admit, when the assignment was given to us to write about a
poem, I did not think I would find one that would capture my interest
or memory. For days, my ears would burn the table of contents as my
fingers struck down page numbers in a hopeless search to find something
that I could connect with, for something that I could write about and
have it be genuine. I was lost and my hopes for finding a poem that
would hold my interest long enough to allow me to write about it seemed
an impossible reach. I was a bibliophile at heart, but I did not like
writing about poetry. I enjoyed reading it, but writing about it was a
different kind of circle of hell.
Click here to read Robert Kingett’s essay
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