I always think I want to take one of those terrible panoramic
photos from here. To stop everything, water thrashing
from horizon to horizon, and that heaping up of land,
Sleeping Bear, mourning under her dune for her drowned cubs.
But wind has already worn her down. If I spread my arms
I might fly off the cliff. I couldn't get a decent picture, anyway,
sand singing and stinging upward from the blue. I could get
the wind, leaves flying. And deer tracks up the slope,
their slippery indentations. You would study the photo
with the wistful loneliness of one asked to appreciate what's
already past, and furthermore, belonged to me. I'd be alone,
again, trying to say something. It would drive me crazy,
wind from all directions. I'd have to be a gull to put things
differently, to see the figure on the dune holding out her arms,
the line of rain over Manitou brightening. To balance
the meaning of this delicately enough to stay aloft.
-
Issue 58
-
Editor's Note
-
Poetry
- Fleda Brown
- Susana H Case
- Shawn Delgado
- Robert Fanning
- Rebecca Foust
- Alice Friman
- John Hart
- K. A. Hays
- Gary Leising
- Matthew Lippman
- Alessandra Lynch
- Amit Majmudar
- Christopher Todd Matthews
- Kathryn Nelson
- Jennifer Poteet
- Sara Quinn Rivara
- Susan Rothbard
- Natalie Scenters-Zapico
- Grace Schulman
- Philip Shalom Terman
-
Fiction
-
Book Review
- David Rigsbee reviews Oppressive Light
by Robert Walzer
- David Rigsbee reviews Oppressive Light