Issue 2 – Fall 2017

TOO STUPID

by Stephen West

Tell me the truth,
I’m shrinking, aren’t I?

She lifts her shirt,
pink bra, white skin.
Her ribs plead escape.

BABY’S 1st BEER

by Stephen West

my untouched tongue
growing goose bumps
as I learned that touch
isn’t always gentle.

THROUGH A TRAIN WINDOW

by

I need to stop being other people and stop smiling keenly and strutting around and finding her on the bathroom floor with cheese puffs and forgetting who I am.

TWO POEMS

by

if you swallowed up the entire world
she would probably be the only watermelon seed
who hates the color blue.

MOTHER EARTH

by

“It would be sad to be so blind to your fate.”

ON SWASTIKAS OUTSIDE THE SYNAGOGUE

by

when men with swastikas walk past I swear even my blood goes quiet

BEHIND THE BLACKBERRY BUSH

by

We used to joke that there was ink running through our veins instead of blood but I stopped believing that when I watched blood seep out of your body

AND ON THE SIXTH DAY

by

And on the first day, God created light, and she saw that it was good

THURSDAY

by

“So,” said Foster, folding back the front page on her crisp yellow legal pad. It looked like she’d...

[INSERT SMILE]

by

I’m fine…

PRIVILEGED INFORMATION

by

“In my defence, you asked for those bruises,” I replied wryly as [REDACTED] curled into me.