The Crossing
Caroline KnappThe quayed riverbed open like palms.
The not body not broken: is ended.
Shell of cicada dust-white in the calcite gulley.
A strange ship sailed in.
Sepia tree in the petal: a suffused tale we scarcely saw.
The men keep turning into deer.
Dropped datura body at our feet.
Name: antistrophe. Hemistich. Corner of my eye.
Death’s-head moth buttoned on the bathroom mirror.
I sing: keep before me the hollow between lines.
Name: terpsichore. Name: the mothers’ prayer.
This is the crossing:
Super flumina babylonis we hang up our old skins.
A swayed song we scarcely recognize.
Issue 10
Figurative vs. Literal
Fall 2009
Nonfiction
This Is a Woman
Gretchen Clark
Excerpt from Crocodile: Memoirs
From a Mexican Drug-Running Port
David Vann
Poetry
Five Scenes from Six and Renaldo
Linda Phillimore
After Sappho
Christina Hutchins
Remainders
Christina Hutchins
The Music Inside
Christina Hutchins
The Ear as Rifle
Tania Van Winkle
Arriving in New York for My Grandfather’s Funeral
Alison Doernberg
Honeysuckle
Alison Doernberg
The Crossing
Caroline Knapp
Notes on Summer
Michael Gross
Notes on Continuation
Michael Gross
Fiction
Spanking Without a Cause
Kevin Killian
Dust
Patty Somlo
You Are Here
Elizabeth Rosner
Brother and Sister
Grace Andreacchi
The Ugly Duckling
Charles Haddox
Art