EDITORIAL
Editorial #41 AFTERMATH
When I think of aftermath, my mind hopefully moves to healing. But sometimes before we get to that, we have to process and absorb, anatomise and accept.
POETRY
new plan for a whole heart
I am driving up the highway listening to the songs we listened to on our road trips away. I’m living the summertime myself now and I’ll give it all of me.
Short Talk on Afterbirth
Afterwards, there’s a hole the size of a dinner plate in your abdomen. She shows me a photo of a bloodied mass, white cord uncoiling from its interior like a distended intestine.
The Thin Drum
granted: i married a jackal
and should have known it
but love could be a mirror from above
and you should have seen her—
Shore
My daughter takes my hand, drops it again. Skitters towards the sea, returns to fold into me.
FICTION
Hang-Glider
I was amazed by the way Joe launched himself into the air, running with the glider along the platform and leaping into the blue abyss of the sky, entrusting himself to his synthetic wings.
Retrograde
Fog is water’s quietest form. It makes no noise and has no outline, save for the shadows cast through it by crepuscular rays of sun. In many ways, fog simply is. It dwells between a state of light and dark, gas and liquid.
NON-FICTION
Ready for my Close-Up: Writing as Method Acting
Growing up, I remember talking to myself in the mirror, or imagining talking to myself in the mirror. I guess most kids do.
