By Nathan McClain
there’s a bluebird, asleep,
in the pokeweed, and we argue still—
what’s pinched in its beak—
a thread of red string, perhaps
what’s left of picking apart its nest?
Though I like to think of the thread as once
woven to some larger piece of cloth,
maybe your scarf.
By Cathy Linh Che
In the car, phantom shadows.
The moon was a sliver.
The sun blared orange over the canyon,
and I caught myself awkward and nervous.
In the woods, I constructed for us
a makeshift shelter––tent with broken poles,
hands that intertwined in restless sleep.
In Flagstaff, the huevos rancheros
smothered in pork and chile verde.
A circular bruise on each knee.
I’d never seen anything like this.
Stacked mesas with their red
and sandstone striations.
Dusk striped violet and blue,
diffusing into golden light.
Scratch deep red on your arm.
What if love meant marking a body?
The red insignia a testament
to blood beneath the skin.
The soundtrack to a road trip played
on an uncertain loop. A blaze of time zones.
The spinning …
By Ben Tanzer
There was this boy with his head in your lap.
Which is not exactly what it sounds like, though depending on how that sounds to you, it isn’t exactly not that either.
Which is to say that he isn’t a little boy, you have those now and you know what they look like, he was more like a young man, as were you, it’s just that you just weren’t as young as he was, with his boyish face, pale skin, and light, near translucent scruff.
But you’re getting ahead of yourself, that is the present, or that present anyway, and this doesn’t work without knowing the past and …
By Jen Knox
The girls crash into each other and then the wall. A jumble of screams and giggles traverse the hallway as Cassandra’s neighbors, kids themselves, bang something blunt against their side of the wall. Concentrating to steady her hand, she squints, painting her nails a dark purple that is almost black; dark nails signify control over one’s domain, the willingness to fight. Red means an all-out battle for dominance, and she doesn’t want to go that far.
“Shut! Up!” The neighbors’ voices are muffled by thick plaster. Control today, Cassandra reminds herself. There is a brief moment of silence before another loud scream and another muffled yell.
By Kari Nguyen
It is October 2013. Quintessential New England fall. Our afternoon walk is slow as we pass under trees already turned for the season. There is hardly a breeze, and the leaves above us hang suspended, not quite ready to descend save for the few scattered on the sides of the road. The sunlight, lengthening but still warm, casts us: a band at peace. My daughter’s purple sneakers keep up easily over the pavement and her warm hand fits familiarly into mine. I snake the retriever’s worn leash through my opposite hand, repositioning the grip, and he seems to understand. There is a break in my …
By Noel Alumit
The soundtrack of Maybe Someday was first heard in a small house on Vendome Avenue. It was eventually heard in homes on Council, Reno, Dillon, and Union. The music of this hit Broadway musical was heard in cars driving north on Rampart, turning right on Temple street, then stopping at a parking lot in Bahay Kubo, a popular hang out in Historic Filipinotown—Hi-Fi for short—in Los Angeles, Ca. At Bahay Kubo, the music of Maybe Someday was heard on the loudspeakers, a boot-legged video of the musical played on a large TV in the restaurant.
Filipino men and women sang along, including the old manongs and …
Threshold by Nita Noveno & Sara Lippmann
Chris Tarry by Sara Lippmann
Laurel Fantauzzo by Nita Noveno
Music Heard in Hi-Fi by Noel Alumit
In the Beginning by Victoria Brown
A Handbook for Single Mothers by Jen Knox
Gray Area by Krista Madsen
The Forestiera by Cynthia Blake Thompson
Back Home by Ben Tanzer
In the Making by Kari Nguyen
An Unlikely Pilgrimage by Jennifer McGaha
that voice by …
At the Sunday Salon, we’ve had the immense pleasure of hosting Chris Tarry twice – as musical guest and as featured author. His debut collection, How to Carry Bigfoot Home, came out this March from Red Hen Press with glowing blurbs from Jim Shepard, Pamela Erens, Roy Kesey, and Matt Bell. The Masters Review’s Kim Winterheimer writes, “Each of his stories is laced with humor and heart.” And Stefan Merrill Block says, “What would happen if some mad scientist were able to fuse the otherworldly exuberance of H.P. Lovecraft with the nuanced pathos of John Cheever? The result would be a dazzling, explosive, and inexhaustible new kind of illumination: a …
Guillermo Filice Castro is a poet, translator and photographer. In 2013 he was a recipient of an Emerge-Surface-Be fellowship from the Poetry Project. A collection of poems, “Agua, Fuego” is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.
Cathy Linh Che is the author of Split (Alice James Books), winner of the the Kundiman Poetry Prize and Norma Farber First Book Award from the Poetry Society of America. She has received awards from Poets & Writers, The Fine Arts Work Center at Provincetown, Hedgebrook, Poets House, The Asian American Literary Review, The Center for Book Arts, The Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, and the Jerome Foundation. A founding editor of the online journal Paperbag, she is Managing Director at Kundiman. She currently lives in Brooklyn.