My father who forgets       

often remembers, and frets,        

that he has a golden ring.          

It’s on his left finger            

and a memory lingers:        

someone who was his everything.  

My father who forgets                 

will come inside and set          

his coat down; we talk for a while.    

He’ll watch the snow fall,              

laugh at pictures on the wall,       

and offer me his widest smile.         

But my father who forgets 

sees his ring—now he’s upset, 

he starts to ask how and why.

So every single time

I will tell him it’s fine—

his trust makes it easy to lie.

So my father who forgets 

will never have to regret

the grave outside in the snow. 

So every December

I’ll stay quiet and remember

something he’ll never know.

Erin Devine

When my mother didn’t leave

her bedroom for nine days 

Dad said we should start by

cleaning the playroom.

That the mess was stressing

her out and we could 

help by putting the Barbies away.

Well we got distracted 

because we finally found the

green purse with the flower clasp

we’d been hunting since 

Thanksgiving, and picked up our

November storyline like no

time had passed. Somebody’s

Mom always had cancer and 

usually someone’s boyfriend 

was cheating. One of these

problems could be solved. 

Unless it was cancer of the brain.

Then the solution was dump him

and pick up the playroom. 

When Dad found us lying on our

stomachs, marching our dolls

across plastic shoe strewn carpet 

he didn’t yell. Just stood there

scanning the clutter and

finally made us pinky promise

to never stop taking care of each other.

Raegan Allen

I was seven in a muddy lawn 

freshly shot by the sky. 

Bugs waded in the carnage. 

My brothers & I, my two brothers & I, 

we slid through as the rain up- 

cycled leaving sheets of clay 

for landscapers to deal with. 

We were painted. The pigment 

was hot. I remember knowing 

the innate fixture of things, 

how this shallow bog would soon lift & become a fantastic dirty cloud. 

Science was readymade 

as the snacks that brought us inside. My brothers ran. I waited 

in the carnage. My parents took note 

that it was odd. Recently 

they’ve been unfurling stories 

which paint me as a cosmic invader flung headfirst into Real Life. 

But no, I was actually a bug 

in that warm plot. I wanted to be lifted—thought if I covered myself in enough of earth’s juice 

I could rise & fall back

into place. Thought it would be nice

to see our house from above. No one ever told me otherwise, so I stayed there 

for about five minutes with my 

eyes closed.

Henry Koskoff

Esther Hung

I’d see you in his flush, slurs, and sweat,

And I’d pray you wouldn’t take him yet.

You’d come on Christmas, New Year’s, Tuesdays;

No matter the occasion, you’d find your ways.

When other men grew weary of your hours-long hold,

He nurtured and kept you until you grew old.

I’d hear your clink in his glove compartment

And see you now, sitting boldly in his apartment.

Your once fragile fate has begun anew;

It seemed as I grew taller, so did you.

Eileen Hernandez

My prayer list is pages too long 

It’s been April for as long as I can remember 

I can’t remember 

An unmuffled how great thou art

Alone in my kitchen doesn’t count 

If my laptop dies, so does the preacher 

I can’t focus on the message 

Only the glitch that stains his cheeks 

With pixel pigment, his eyes open

For two seconds too long 

His voice a faintly burning wick

Brothers and—ters, let—emember the sick

      I close the screen 

      And bow my head.

Raegan Allen

a gooey sun pools 

in the honey pot of a mouth,

runny, 

dripping

into the molten south.

love verbalized first through a choke 

coastal palm to eastern oak. 

overheated honey now solidified 

peach sunlight licks martian thermal tide. 

plasma sweat in a copper wire throttle 

orange mentos in an open Fanta bottle. 

sun looking down on red siren sighs 

mars looking up at street lamp eyes. 

legs stretching into a morning then night 

taxi metal not slowing down at the light. 

northern cardinals winging dull beats 

breathes heaving out deep, bloody heats. 

tongue sketching an august shaped muse 

oh, to tumble again under clementine hues. 

fireflies and red clay stuck in teeth and nails

smiling at west coast salt 

and 

California 

poppies.

Trinity Saxon