forgive me father for I have called another man my daddy
who was not my father. forgive me father for I have lied
my knees down at his denim altar.
forgive me father for I have begged him to bless me
with what he saw fit to bless me with (I showered after).
forgive me father for I have knelled
beside my bed and opened my mouth. forgive me
if it looked like prayer, for giving away your mouth.
here lord, take my tongue.
take the black of my gums. take eight teeth.
take my top lip. take the space between my tonsils.
I stuffed them in my throat
to make it easier for you to take them home.
this is my offering. do what you will: build a fire,
feed pigeons, leave them
on the front step of the last man I called your name
and let soil the vestibule of your temple.
-
Issue 60
-
Editor's Note
-
Poetry
- Dara Barnat
- Jason Barry
- Robin Chapman
- Geraldine Connolly
- Matt Daly
- Elizabeth Burke
- Liz Dolan
- Thomas Dooley
- Lisa Hiton
- John McKernan
- Dave Nielsen
- Sheila Joy Packa
- Jack Powers
- Brook J. Sadler
- Amy Small-McKinney
- Danez Smith
- Karen Steinmetz
- John Tangney
- Ryan Teitman
- Davide Trame
- G.C. Waldrep
- Sarah Wangler
- Charles Harper Webb
- Mary-Sherman Willis
-
Fiction