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  volume 1. issue one  
 
Feature
My Skin, My Sanity
by Kat Duff

When I turned fifty, the only scar on my body was the thin trace of an incision on my right thumb where a doctor removed a sliver when I was nine (more...)
POETRY
Jada Ach
Ana Arredondo
Kristy Bowen
Julie R. Enszer
Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Charlie Newman
Margo Roby
CREATIVE NONFICTION
Kat Duff
Peggy Duffy
Jackson Lassiter
REVIEW/INTERVIEW
Maureen Seaton's
Venus Examines Her Breast
PHOTOGRAPHY
Jacob Knabb
Fides J. Proctor
Anna Ressman
Shawn Sargent
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photo by Shawn Sargent


MY SKIN, MY SANITY
by Kat Duff

When I turned fifty, the only scar on my body was the thin trace of an incision on my right thumb where a doctor removed a sliver when I was nine. One minute I was gleefully racing down the steps to the beach running my hand along the wooden railing, and the next - days later - I was sitting on the table at the doctor’s office staring at the slit-open pad of my thumb. I fainted. A few seconds later the doctor’s smelling salts brought me round, but I’ve never forgotten that glimpse of the meaty-red flesh of my insides pulsing frantically. Nor have I lost my gratitude for that thin, breathing membrane we call skin that envelops and conceals our riotous insides.

When I turned fifty-one, I had a crimson scar careening from the depths of my right armpit across my chest to my sternum. It’s a neat surgical scar that is now – one year later - beginning to loose its thickness and color, but not its fluid arc. When I raise my arm it appears to swim up the side of my body.

It’s easy to forget there was once a breast there. ( more... )


also in this issue...

POETRY BY
Jada Ach
I know the essence of soil: / how it waxes the gums and / caulks between teeth, how / it tastes like the green lingering / of the almost-dead – ( more... )

Ana Arredondo
It is from under these / covers that Egyptian Musk rises / like heat. And I think, / you are here with me, a nightsoul / surrounding me. ( more... )

Kristy Bowen
The wrist holds impossible cruelties. / Dead pets nest in the curve of an ear, / while every heartbreak has a spot just / below the throat. Even at eleven, / car wrecks twisted the cage of my ribs. ( more... )

Julie R. Enszer
If she dies / suddenly / young / I am going to sell everything / buy acres and acres of land / in West Virginia / with a hunting cabin / on top of a mountain / no plumbing / no electricity / I’ll live naked / alone / crying and screaming / until there are no more tears / until my voice is silent ( more... )

Patricia Wellingham-Jones
I put down the phone, / pick up the knife, / smash garlic with the flat of the blade. / Chop carrots, potatoes, cabbage / with more vigor / than the task requires. ( more... )

Charlie Newman
an album of faded pictures / laying on an empty bed / on one side of a dusty room / nobody rents / even though the rates are god-awful good ( more... )

Margo Roby
The aborigines call it / the mari, or blood tree, / for the gaping wounds / that bleed a scarlet resin ( more... )


CREATIVE NONFICTION BY
Peggy Duffy
Today my two daughters and I are painting the kitchen. I roll the walls and ceiling; they do the brushwork–the windows and floor moldings and all the corners where the roller won’t reach. Painting is soothing. There’s comfort in the clean fresh smell. How easily the new white coat covers the blemished wall below. ( more... )

Jackson Lassiter
I was a late-bloomer as far as sex was concerned. At least compared to the other boys in my dusty little hometown in northern Wyoming. Most of them bragged about nailing some cheerleader by the time they were fifteen. Even by seventeen, the only nailing I did involved a hammer and wood. But I did like hearing their stories. The locker room talk was steamy. ( more... )


REVIEW/INTERVIEW BY
Lauren R. Mathews
It isn’t always clear from where poetry will emerge. The grocery store, a great love, or some previously unfathomable journey through loss. It is precisely that journey that Maureen Seaton leads readers through in her most recent collection Venus Examines Her Breast, a demanding book in which the reader is simultaneously witness to and recipient of the profound wisdom Seaton earned through the great loss of her mother. ( more... )


PHOTOGRAPHY BY

Jacob Knabb
Fides J. Proctor

Anna Ressman
Shawn Sargent

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