The Missing Person
Maureen Alsop You came covered in rain. Arrival was not yours to choose and least efficient was your bleak trail. Stars rang with traces of snow. Sleep walked out of your shadow. You sat in the doorway. Somehow I let you linger. Somehow I had welcomed you in from the quiet edges of the fern. The air was your house and your farm and your garden. Horses blessed the orchard. But you were no wanderer. The pale buttons on your felt hat, the simple sheep with their gold eyes, the scuff of the sea along your collar named you. You were maiden, my waking, magnolia blossoms flame across the river. Once you, who had never been there, witnessed the words outside your voice. The passage of your long music, the flood of sunlight as it bronzed my throat.
Issue 11
Process vs. Product
Spring 2010
Nonfiction
The Third Jewel
Chris Malcomb
On War and Remembrance
Ken Rodgers
Immaculate
Wendy Sumner-Winter
Spectacles of the Mind
Manda Frederick
Poetry
birds who eat flowers
ali lanzetta
Ars Botanica
Katharyn M. Browne
The B-Boy
Martha Grover
The Lonely Freedom
Chris Carosi
The Missing Person
Maureen Alsop
Upon Revisiting the Birthplace of the Preacher Billy Sunday
Eric Rawson
One Way of Looking at a Poet
Stephen Maurer
Atomic Gardening—
Adam Strauss
The Story
Jennifer Skogen
Notes on Joan Crawford
Cedar Sigo
Untitled (NIJINSKY)
Cedar Sigo
Vinculum
Katharyn M. Browne
For Our Time
Dunstan Christopher
December 33
Jami Proctor-Xu
THE MOOR DANCES
Mark Boccard
Fiction
Apala
Jason Nemec
Maena
Susan Green
The Lonely Story
Mark Gozonsky
Home Improvements
Christine Meade
out back by the rabbit pen
Calder Lorenz
Saint-Michel: A Moment in Six Forms
Andrew Valencia
Art