a note from dusti
At last, it’s here.
This isn’t an autumn-themed issue but autumn is on my mind now, as we’re still experiencing temperatures in the 90s here on the prairie. Aren’t my nothern hemisphere friends ready to experience that lovely slowdown that (supposedly) comes as we wind the year down? Keeping this publication running while in a dual master’s degree program sometimes feels like a fool’s errand. But then —
I read the submissions, and re-read them. I consult other writers & editors when the decision isn’t coming to me. The awe I feel as a writer for anyone who submits anything at all, anywhere at all, is real. And it’s hard to tell another writer no, regardless of how often I do it — because it’s hard to receive the no-thank-you. The relief comes when those poets are gracious in their responses, and then it really opens up when an acceptance is received as joyfully as it was offered.
Yes, I am an embarrassingly earnest person. It works for me.
This issue called for LGBTQIA+ poets, and I’m proud to feature work by Peach Delphine, Ryan Tracy, Jack Cariad Leon, Beck V., Yoru Rei, Alison Keiser, Cass Torrence (in a rare-for-us repeat), and Willa Stonecipher.
And now…the poems.
Your friend,
dusti
Transfiguration On the Train
by Alison Keiser
The last car of the late train hosts quiet consumers, me,
this full body feeling. I watch two lovers across from me, their arms
of thick twine, every hiss and hum of the grating tracks is an ancient
melody, I mistake sidewalk graffiti for your name. I roll and roll over
this moment where you sit next to me in a ghoulish half-life.
I’m carving tooth-shaped grooves in my lips to pin down
a smile that keeps rising through me. I think and think to hold
on to you. In the window’s reflection, I remember
I am real and this is a becoming. It has taken me lifetimes to want
to write about love. It has taken lifetimes to be stirred into
these desperate spirals. It will take longer to know what to do
with any of it. My face is yellow-lit. It is among the bulbs of light that count
the cities I pass. These reminders of something witnessed.
Title: I checked my pronouns in a convenient little box but I’m still misgendered
by Beck V
everyone assumes that they know you until you do something that proves them wrong
but even then they don’t respect you they don’t use what you give them they just
take and take and take and take
and it’s never enough for them until your humanity is gone
and you don’t have anything anymore but they
take and take and take
and i don’t have anything left
but me but they
take and take
and i have had
enough but
still they
take
I Know My Fate
by Ryan Tracy
I didn’t need a compass to track him.
I could smell it on the sage, animal suffering.
I roam where men won’t show face.
Hoofs make tracks in pine gully, snow pocket.
I looked around, ears satelliting, heard no one for miles
but lands that are mine, paused at
the hubris of fences, then lowered my body, electing
to wait with him. I am more spirit
than saint. You have a law that says
if I have antlers I won’t be spared.
I know my fate.
Closing–
by Peach Delphine
hrt made technique necessity
prep setup eight burners eight
spiders folded into flame don’t
step onto my line if you can’t drag
mats at closing deck broom swab
wet then dry used to extremity
inevitability is where we draw breath
body endures we shuffle forms
tickseed bee thick crushed shell
loading dock alley washing grates
adaptation refines eye hand muscle
memory turning root vegetables care
of perishables willing suspension
of credibility abandoning expectation
as you say so you are as you say
shrimps and rice–
by Peach Delphine
high functioning bitch balancing marginal
survival if you understand how knife works
in hand how body functions mechanical
hydraulics how boning knife butcher knife
breaking knife function upon bodies within
a set period of time at proper temperature
on a proper block if your head is on a swivel
ear tuned to that voice if your hands are scarred
from work carrying genteel water toes numb
too many hours on concrete cooking plating
running food if you’re not management white
collar climate controlled work living space clean
water we can talk joy otherwise dialogue of survival
a simple question if less than half of us received
minimal care what was being affirmed
built for running–
by Peach Delphine
what you call winter mostly dry
interlude between hurricanes
northern tier exotic weather
snow frost thaw how anyone lives
in that cold unnatural in every aspect
semi sliding into tropical apparition
in mirror is dog gone blind barking at sun
shadow in yard another old dog
we feed anyone here sleep on pallets
porch hounds yard dogs wanderers all
casualties of the binary running dogs of love
catch hounds some gone lame blind
worn pads bad knees dreaming of turkey
necks belly rubs slow ear massage
what was comfort only memory
hey wats ur pubsub order again?
by Cass Torrence
I am a sea bird in the publix parking lot and
i forgot my grandmas shopping list again
all i can remember is honey wheat toast and
a can of peaches but i cant call and ask
because i am a seagull i have no words
i have no thumbs i have no living grandma
everyone wants to write about the eye of the blue whale,
or its heart, or giant mock body suspended in the Hall of Ocean Life
everyone wants to be a big whale or a great white or an angler fish
wonders what they’d be like if they’d returned to the sea 50 million years ago, or had never left
at all
inside publix still can’t remember how she took her coffee,
i prevaricate, flapping my wings in front of the case of milk
all the lines of evolution lead to some anticipatory swell of grief
& every seagull & blue whale & grandma knows it
Love & Ace
by Yoru Rei
Love is in the air
but singles do not care
Marriage is a lie
however hard we try
Wondering what’s my type
but nothing clicks with hype
I point at my face—
yeah, I’m aroace.
The Goddess
by Jack Cariad Leon
She appeared to me in a dream.
She said: “If you keep calling me
your divine saviour,
they will crucify both of us.”
an antiphon
by Willa Stonecipher
we bury the bedsheets,
the itch of sprawling naked
in the midnight grass.
holy, holy, holy,
do not touch me,
do not let me go.
This Issue’s Poets
Peach Delphine is a transfemme former cook from Tampa, Fla. Work in Ballast, Some Words.
Jack Cariad Leon (he/him) is a multidisciplinary artist based in Brisbane, Australia.
Alison Keiser is a poet and author based in Portland, Oregon. She has published works with Shelf Awareness, Midway Journal, and more. Alison supports other writers at Literary Press, Veliz Books and Amplify Publishing.
Yoru Rei is a multigenre Asian poet and writer whose works have appeared in printed publications supporting vulnerable groups, such as disabled animals.
Willa Stonecipher is a PhD student in History at Harvard University.
Cass Torrence lives & writes in the high desert and Brooklyn. They love transition lenses & poems that pierce.
Ryan Tracy writes, makes art, performs, and teaches literature.
Beck V. is a creative living in California. Their favorite color is purple and that’s probably the most important thing about them.
