POETRY
PATRICIA WELLINGHAM–JONES
New Downward Cycle Every Three Weeks, Pieces of the Moon, Pillow, Losses
I pull my body out of bed,
shuffle down the hall,
squint at the furnace buttons,
hope I press 'on'.
Heading back for those last minutes
of body flat on mattress
I notice light spilling
from his room.
Read Patricia Wellingham–Jones' poems
CREATIVE NON–FICTION
LEAH MEREDITH
All We Have To Go On
Making sense of your wants is playing charades without the rules, making socks without the pattern, packing clothes without a box. Do you want dinner, a toy, a bath? It's CIA-grade guesswork. Your needs—love, food, motion, sleep—appear simple, but your silence lends them complexity. I hope you speak up soon . . .
Read Leah Meredith's story.
SHORT STORY
DAVID BOLT
Spangles
1
A Man was unconscious on his kitchen floor when a boy walked in expecting the usual mixture of song, humour and breakfast.
"Dad?"
An upset stool was lying next to the man, but his black Labrador looked on without concern.
Oh my God, no, Dad."
As the boy rushed over to the telephone, the man's red cheek was pressed hard against the cold black and white tiles. It was only a matter of seconds, but he resisted laughter for as long as he could and then leaped high into the air.
"I got you this time Master Jones, I got you this time well and truly."
Read David Bolt's short story.
BOOK REVIEW
ERIKA JAHNEKE
The Short Bus
I both loved and hated this book. I loved it for its fast–reading, wacky, almost outlaw tone, and for the exciting and vital cast of characters Jonathan Mooney met while driving an iconic "short bus" across America. My favorite was Kent, performance artist, and author of the book Portrait of Your Momma as a Young Man who has turned his ADHD into Steven Wright–meets–Andy–Kaufman comedy riffs . . .
Read Erika Jahneke's book review.
ESSAY
ROY A. BARNES
My Travelin' Roots
Sometime during my sixth year on this planet, my father, Marvin Barnes, asked me if I would like to travel with him in his semi–truck during some of his long haul trips around the country. I was very excited about doing so, and ultimately would log thousands of miles in states east and south of Wyoming when school was not in session.
Read Roy Barnes' essay.
POETRY
GAIL LIVESAY
All There Is
I sit in a world of beauty.
The trees wave their arms in good cheer.
The flowers bow their colorful heads. The grasses whisper in rapture . . .
Read Gail Livesay's poem.
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