Winter 2013: Poetry
Decomposition
by Pat Phillips West
Days grow longer, she finds her husband wandering around a neighbor’s back yard after dusk. I’m on my way to Boise, he says. No mention this time about jumping out of a hatch in the moon. She gets him home, tucks him in. He grabs her hand, Do you understand the importance of keeping death on the left side of the bed? Late summer, he leaves a forty dollar tip for a lunch of half that amount. He reads for thirty-six hours straight – Edison, Ford, Lindberg, and Firestone – says, Hymens and hymnals protect holy stuff sweet to the ears and to the touch. Days shorten, sun sits low in the sky. He declares, I need to check my mushroom crop, crawls under the bed. She locks the dead bolt, hides the key. He finds it, opens the front door, runs out naked in a rain storm, curls up under a hydrangea bush. She takes his arm, tries to pull him up from the muck. He bites her hand.
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Enjoy the richness: thirteen poets, nineteen poems, and a diversity of style and craft. |
Three memoirists share their emotional truths in these slices-of-life. |
Our featured artist, as well as painters and photographers, provide colorful visions that will leave you seeing the world in new ways. |
Three emerging writers share talent and creativity far beyond their years. |
Learn more about the contributors who make us proud of our Winter 2013 edition. |