Eric Burke

 

December 22

Nothing new under the sun. Tea is falling through the infuser again. I look out back instead. The lake in my yard is becoming talkative. Through the closed window: "There will always be the evidence of the weather." Long ago we put away our political signs. We listen to each other's intonation. There are no real clues. There never have been. I drink my tea, enjoy it more and more less and less.

CP

Eric Burke is a computer programmer in Columbus, Ohio. His writing has appeared in elimae, qarrtsiluni, PANK, A cappella Zoo, Emprise Review, Word Riot, among others. You can read his blog at http://anomalocrinus.blogspot.com/

Cameron Witbeck

Reliquary  

Is there a word in Cantonese
for a necklace made of teeth?
How do you divide the days
to revisit the reliquaries of a son?
Everyday, someone dies and leaves a hole in a home
where in the doorways he measured himself against time.
Is there shame in searching the dead for something to remember?
A woman dips in gold her father's little finger
and a sister digs a bullet out of drywall.
The repositories of grief, our pockets strain with memory.
We are each trying to find a way to weld ourselves to a ghost
afraid that if our hands are empty, we will be alone.

CP

Cameron Witbeck is from Michigan. He plays rugby for the Moosemen RFC and works as an associate poetry editor for Passages North. He is pursuing an MFA at Northern Michigan University and his work has appeared in Cream City Review, Panache, Strongverse and others.

Cath Barton

My turn

There was a row of small green arrows on the path and, near to the first of them, a small ball of paper, which I picked up and smoothed out, somehow knowing that I must treat it with care and respect. Written on the paper, in a crabbed hand, were the words Follow the trail.  I was on my way home, my children were waiting for their supper and my feet were hurting. All reasons not to follow a trail of small green arrows pointing in the opposite direction to home. I followed the arrows. Everything has changed now, the old man has passed on and I am the one who writes on the paper which I scrunch up into balls and leave by the trails of small green arrows for the next ones to follow, as they will.

CP

Cath Barton lives in Wales. She particularly enjoys writing very short fiction and hopes that she is not predictable.

Kevin Ritter

about a man I saw in a restaurant

—For Annie. Eat fish with me.

I think I saw my future Friday night.
He was sitting in a booth, right next
to my table at My Friends twenty four
hour diner. He had glasses with thick
black rims. His yellow tie, with white
polka dots, contrasting against his
royal blue button down. An aura of
impeccability. Upon eavesdropping,
we determined that he would be eating
fish of some sort that evening.

Across from him sat a woman, wearing a black sweater
black shoes, black pants. Her hair was tied back. She
looked at him with such affection. They discussed fish.

I paid for my meal
and left. It was late
and I had to sleep
but I wondered what
they would discuss
how long they would
sit there in the booth
with the glow
of passing headlights
just a light stream of headlights,
after all, it was the
middle of the night.
I wondered what
they talk about on
a regular basis.

politics
the weather
the possible existence of a creator
friendship
trivialities of popular culture
slim hips
the best types of fish
the reason they are here
at this diner at midnight
gender
crossed wires
what to do about the whole situation
what it means to be platonic
what it means to love someone
what it means to love someone

I want to eat fish with you in ten years time.
I want to talk to you in the middle of the night,
while at the next table, some high schoolers,
a giant cluster of them, look on and wonder if
this is who they will become. Look on and
wonder if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

[an editor's favorite, 2011]

CP

Kevin Ritter is a poet, actor, box office staff person, and high school student extraordinaire residing in Cleveland, Ohio. His writing was featured at the Anisfield-Wolf Book Awards and has appeared in The Battered Suitcase and Thunderclap Press. He has a dog named Daisy.