You know,
don’t you.
You can tell.
I sit in the greenery,
but perceive only symbols.
All of its inhabitants
seem impatient,
as if to chide me
for this microscope of mine.
I am strafed with ill-considered bullets,
held down with malice,
but find a friend
in an unlikely place.
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Silken trauma
On a night,
a web walked into.
The sudden shock
of snapping spidersilk
gloving the face and ears
with staccato sounds.
I think of distant fireworks,
and sweaters pulled from the dryer.
Empty, Within
The glory of the passing Shared among the weak Claimed by the strong Hold it up with pride Bear witness to this Ignore as my mouth fills With the …
Empty, Within
Sun of God
The sun’s in streamers
Caloric redeemers
Limbic in their sway
Iambic in their deepened beat of day
A terrible horrible no good very bad day
Lose face in poltergeist’s mirror
We drive in stilted silence
How high the corn?…I venture
Knowing you
I knew
A girl who batted her eyelashes
One who touched me
and had a tinkling laugh
One who stood tearless
by her husband’s coffin
then cried
when we joined hands
One who was
the most alive person
I had ever seen
And one who told me things
you should not hear
Fight for Me by L.T. Ward
Geoffrey sneezes on my face as I bend to give him the kiss he’d pleaded for. My sassy four-year-old, my fourth child, has always been demanding of my…
Fight for Me by L.T. Ward
Redemption
Down
Down seven steps
Seven depths of dream
to flypapered halls
where you meet
the man with the flagon
He fills vials of venom
One you must drink
for it will take you
through Mandelbrot sets of madness
Up, up, and through
to the white dwarf
of bright morning
Asymmetry by K-Ming Chang
This, by K-Ming Chang, in The Jellyfish Review.
Asymmetry
I cut my mother’s hair every month since her hands went wild. They’re rabid, boomeranging around the room, returning every touch twice as hard, slapping her face when she’s asleep, ambushing mosquitoes, crawling under the sofa like rodents. I cut her hair shorter in the front than in the back. She likes asymmetry, the unevenness of things. She claims that’s why she fell in love with my father. He had one eye that was double-lidded and one that was single-lidded, one smaller than the other, which my mother called long-feng yan. Dragon-phoenix eyes. A sign of good luck. Eyes like coins, like currency, spending themselves empty. Every month, I spray my mother’s hair from the roots to the tips, trace the cowlick on her scalp, trim away the bleached-brittle ends. Unlike her, I prefer symmetry. I cut my own hair in a bob so abrupt that my friends call me…
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My sin
It began when I wanted him to have a two hundred dollar rocking horse. Or, when she stopped her crying as I sang to her about that bear that went over the mountain. The piggybacks to bed, the too-long stories, the artful tickling.
My ignorance, my wilfulness, my shame.
Aremyfeetofftheground 