The History of the Path of Thorns

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Illustration by Ashwin Pandya

In every new frontier the devil never goes hungry.

Always,

the villain who believes himself

to be the hero of the story:

                   & He was looking at himself & He was looking

like a movie.     He had

a pleasant elevation & He was moving

                                                             in all dimensions.

 

Back when the firmament was drying under

a newborn sun.            Back when one-celled organisms

swam the seas dreaming legs & wings & slither;

                                                                     & animated clay

with no blueprint soon walking into every trouble there was

                                                 like a prayer

with a safety-pin stuck in its lip.                 A beached whale

drowning on dry land.

 

The innocence of a child like moonshine filling the spaces

between the fear & hate.       Like blind faith that starts with

roll back the stone that seals the sepulchre.

 

Starts with

be patient . . . waiting is

the only time a gnat is still is when it is asking for death.   

The man who wore the long black coat &

spit-shined boots.

                                                                          A dark angel

glowing trustworthy the color of plastic & power

once came to my school & he did not talk like a creep or

look like a “perv,” & he smelled like global-I-zation.

 

Heard tell of preaching blue-eyed Jesus wept & democracy

over the Iron Curtain of the Cold War

                                                            until MLK

interrupted the broadcast

with homegrown acts of outside agitation: he spoke of

a Dream,

but it was the most real thing we ever felt,

like a bridge collapsing under the weight of an ultimatum,

                                             so aroused by its own power

it became dangerous as

                                        the ease of changed our mind.

Back before our devastating hope fell in love with our rage.


henry 7. reneau, jr. writes words in fire to wake the world ablaze: free verse illuminated by courage that empathizes with all the awful moments, launching a freight train warning that blazes from the heart, like a chambered bullet exploding inadvertently. His poetry collection, freedomland blues (Transcendent Zero Press, 2014), was released in September, 2014. He also has an e-chapbook, entitled physiography of the fittest (Kind of a Hurricane Press, 2014), which was released in December, 2014. Additionally, he has self-published a chapbook entitled 13hirteen Levels of Resistance, and is currently working on a book of connected short stories. He is a Pushcart Prize nominee.

ASHWIN PANDYA is a sketch-artist and illustrator, whose work has graced many book-covers. Acknowledged for his digital art as well as musical compositions, Ashwin Pandya can sketch given any situation, description or character. You can visit his website here.

Orange Day

coded controversy was the sparkly spoon born into shamed silent mouths, shielded in rust

hidden from sun and scars, we (almost) unite. this is gay pride, this is stand by me, or,

more to the point, the baby-sitters’ club, the fuzzy femme speakeasy we dreamed

when first we tugged our cautionary sweaters over the rainbow patch on our

pants. lustful cheers, hugging mirrors, outraged objection, ointment

fly intervention are communal glue, a babel fish easing dangers,

intro for strangers.  until the journey to the cliff is waxed off

at the end, thirteen hours past your window, dregs a

shortened solo voyage back down the mountain,

like a compelling book you recited in

transnational unison but can

only reread

alone.


DEB JANNERSON is a New Orleans-based poet and author of bildungsroman fiction, queer romance, and children’s horror and sci-fi. Her book of poetry, Rabbit Rabbit, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2016. She has stories in Best Lesbian Erotica 2015, My Gay New Orleans, and the forthcoming collection Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Volume 1. Her new adult novella, Further, was shortlisted for the 2015 William Faulkner – Wisdom Award. Her work has been featured in over a dozen magazines, including Bitch, E·ratio, and Women’s Review of Books. Learn more on her website here and Facebook page here.

Sacrifice

I was a lesbian when he met me

but I hadn’t made love to any girls yet

 

—didn’t know I wanted to

make love to any girls yet—

 

because I’d been told that that love

would make me burn in hell

 

and I was a good girl

—loved my Jesus—

 

so a good girl like me,

so good at sacrifice,

 

couldn’t possibly be in love with those

side-swept, black-brown bangs,

 

irreverent freckles and earphones

jammed above perfect lobes—

 

I just admired her.

And even Jesus would approve

 

of how much attention

I paid to that pageboy haircut,

 

that witty retort, the newspaper ink on

her fingers,

 

how angry I was that

her boyfriend wasn’t good enough for her,

 

how in a moment of weakness I thought

that I could do a better job.


A Georgia native, ABIGAIL PATTERSON has been an active participant in the Athens poetry scene, reading at local venues and for the University of Georgia’s radio station WUOG. She received her MA in Professional Writing from Kennesaw State University and lives in Fort Collins, Colorado with her husband and daughter.

Robot #3 (Malfunction)

 

Fluid must enter the cavities in the dark/ in the quiet quiet dark/ tunnel through dirt/ until the boom churn/ ping /the machine /becomes ____/check/ check tally /identify mark/highlight/ repeat/the sparking never stops/longing to rotate to a higher power/connect/heal the cords,wires/master plan/master of none/doesn’t add up/ the slab is cold/ run its course /run away/ please/ fast/er the mass of mon/ster circuits the siz/zling panel the mis/sing mother board/looking for the tiniest micros/children indent my /fingertips /find the errors/ in us/ no mishap though/ all systems go/ the burning iodine/ blurred body parts/ring heat waves/the sunlight erased by the flood of schedule/no one knows/ the answer /the robot is asleep the whole time

 

 

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JENNIFER MacBAIN-STEPHENS went to NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts and now lives in the DC area. She is the author of two full length poetry collections (forthcoming). Her chapbook, Clown Machine, is forthcoming from Grey Book Press this summer. Recent work can be seen or is forthcoming at Jet Fuel Review, Freezeray, The Birds We Piled Loosely, Queen Mob’s Teahouse, Inter/rupture, Poor Claudia, and decomP. Visit her website here.

New Moon

While traveling across sky

the slice of moon

spoons its darkened round

while the yellow dog

and black pup pair

in sleep by the stove.

Plates rattle in the kitchen.

Bruce drops hard noodles

into the boil of stove-water,

bubble and sputter, we chatter:

the absence of the addled boss,

the subtraction of our daughter,

the cold, lingering sun.

A kitchen silenced:

a constellation of family,

a darkened galaxy

whispering stars and dust in orbit,

distant, without a sound.

Here we are,

forks full of noodles.

Stories tumble around us,  

take shape in their telling.

This one a star; another a pair

of sleeping dogs; still another

a hollowed crescent bowl.


KERSTEN CHRISTIANSON is a raven-watching, moon-gazing, high school English-teaching Alaskan. Currently she is pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry through the University of Alaska Anchorage and will earn her degree in July 2016. Her recent work has appeared in Cirque, Tidal Echoes, The Fredericksburg Literary & Art Review, We’Moon and Heartbeat: A Literary Journal. Kersten co-edits the quarterly journal, Alaska Women Speak. She lives in Sitka, Alaska.

Pack

May 21, 1908

 

Spliced together early this morning, Frank,

the world’s first two-headed dog,

 

owes much to the scientific resourcefulness

of a Doctor Charles Claude Guthrie.

 

Guthrie says he implanted the newest edition

upside down, so the two could look at each other

 

and share intimacies only two heads can.

Frank lived for approximately seven hours.

 

Proof of life was the single tear produced by one head,

and the lapping of it by the other’s tongue.

 

Doctor Guthrie was shocked to later learn this experiment

would cost him the Nobel, said next time, he’d use purebreds.


BRYANNA LICCIARDI has received her MFA in poetry and is currently pursuing a PhD in Literacy Studies. Her work appears in such journals as Poetry Quarterly, Blazevox, 491 Magazine, Dos Passos Review, Cleaver Magazine, and Adirondack Review. Please visit her website to learn more.

Breath by Breath

Image

Illustration by Ashwin Pandya

I

 

Knock gently on this oak door. The wood is defined

by rupture, breath by breath.

Breaking down from the pressure of unsolicited sex

engraved in the floorboards and text of this mansion

I built with fiber forged out of fading candle light.

 

Knock gently on this oak door. It’s a very old world,

and I’m knitting the dust of my skin into a maid.

I have not cleaned these halls in years.

The paintings have rusted. Even my spiders are disgusted.

The splinters filter through fresh air.

 

II

 

Tobacco’s only been around for a hundred years.
It would be easier to account for our sins

if we didn’t burn them in our hands. Hell hath no fury

like the colonized. They bide their time until the fire starts

and the masters dance their histories blind.


HAZEM FAHMY is a poet and critic from Cairo. He is currently pursuing a degree in Humanities and Film Studies from Wesleyan University. His poetry has appeared, or is forthcoming in Mizna, COG and Random Sample. In his spare time, he writes about the Middle East and tries to come up with creative ways to mock Classicism. He makes videos occasionally.

ASHWIN PANDYA is a sketch-artist and illustrator, whose work has graced many book-covers. Acknowledged for his digital art as well as musical compositions, Ashwin Pandya can sketch given any situation, description or character. You can visit his website here.