At Echo Mire
Late—or early, depending on how you saw it—under the close stars, through the uncut grass, amid the pulse of crickets and drone of frogs, we led our fathers downhill to drown them. Continue reading At Echo Mire
Late—or early, depending on how you saw it—under the close stars, through the uncut grass, amid the pulse of crickets and drone of frogs, we led our fathers downhill to drown them. Continue reading At Echo Mire
ART: The Oil Paintings of Emilie Mae FICTION: “Strange Beast” by Eric Notaro “A Forensic Reading of Images” by Kelcey Edwards “At Echo Mire” by Aaron Hull “Transubstantiation” by Kathleen McNamara NONFICTION: “Story of the Ghost” by Gray Hilmerson POETRY: Four Poems by Patricia Caspers Two Poems by Sean Thomas Dougherty “wood-voice, I must pass on” by Eleanor Gray “Some Flowers” by … Continue reading Fall 2018
Every time I plant the perennials —
daffodils, tulips, tiger lilies, hollyhocks —
I’m leaving a part of me immortal… Continue reading This Is Why I Plant Perennials
They sit on the curb just past the customs booth: three dudes staring into the distance, faces hangdog, eyes vacant. Dreadlocks flow down their backs and rest limp on the sidewalk beside their bodies, looking like unearthed roots withering for lack of soil. Above them, the flags of two nations whip in a stiff breeze, while twenty yards off loom the struts and cables … Continue reading Story of the Ghost
for nothing here knows me
but
the fog along the ridge of pines
Continue reading wood-voice, I must pass on
He dropped the orange peel as he walked. “Leave no trace,” said Sharon, last in the line. She stopped to squat, trying to pick up the trash. Her knees wavered as she balanced the weight of her backpack. “It’s organic,” said Vince. He shrugged, like what did it matter. His wife Nevada nodded agreement. “It’s not trash,” said Nevada, “because it’s part of the … Continue reading Transubstantiation
When we were fifteen
• We stole peaches from the bodega
• The juice ran down our chins Continue reading Two Poems
To rhyme their orange is impossible… Continue reading Some Flowers
All of the art featured in this issue is the work of Emilie Mae, an American oil painter from Detroit, who now lives in Vancouver, British Columbia. Following the images below, our editors ask Emilie a few questions. Interview with Emilie Mae Border Crossing: We really enjoy your use of vibrant color as well as use of texture in paintings. Can you talk … Continue reading The Paintings of Emilie Mae
So slow coming was the disaster,
the way, with dusk one could never say
exactly when the sky was fully dark. Continue reading Four Poems
I realize in this moment,
he will be defined by
what I teach him Continue reading My Son Finds a Dead Bird
Just one week before, her husband had made them a reservation at Les Amis, the best French restaurant in the Hamptons. There was an expensive bottle of burgundy serving as a candle holder on the table. Layers of colored wax melted around the neck marking the passage of time, the countless dinner dates. She pictured a young couple holding hands under the table, the … Continue reading A Forensic Reading of Images