VOL 2, ISS. 2:
tarot series ii
By Jenny Montgomery
"At this schvitz a certain actress was sometimes seen
who didn’t audition for anything. Her hands like
a locomotive engineer’s, large with great labor incurred
over generations, incarnations, her name not stagey,
suburban, reposing upon a bunk in the dressing room
among murmurs, nakedness, dim flapping of sandals.
Like ourselves, stripped of roles and lines
in enveloping linens, bleached towels, blue eyes
pressed shut with visions accumulating around her
one-woman show. Its transmissions or passengers
whispering, lamenting, loping into view— boys and girls,
all races, old ones, ingénues, mendicants, mothers,
seers, scientists, coastlines, cedars, roadsides, raves,
vans and diverse houses, poured from her for thirty seven
weeks in a torrent, a thrashing wave of epic and
VOL 2, ISS. 1:
BY KRISTI CARTER
"Today I peel a blood orange,
which reminds me of you—not the fruit
itself, though your beauty is the same:
at once of and not of man’s earth.
As my thumbs cleave the flesh from the pith,
I think of the women we knew, their ritual
when you read that poem about a blood orange.
Their backs suddenly straight, their fine
slim fingers tucked, stiff into their laps.
And when I told you this, once, that the women
clung to something in your lines about
hidden folds never fully unfolding
as you pored through them, the orange a you,
through her perfectly framed entrance
to more mystery, you laughed."
Vol. 1, Iss. 4:
SPhere of LUna
Introduction to Volume 1, Issue 4
"The moon has always drawn to herself those sensitive souls who seek to understand and play in her realm. She is host to the artist, the philosopher, the witch, and the lunatic, and she rewards each for their devotion, for they are all one and the same."
Vol. 1, Iss. 3:
"The Lucky Ones"
by Adam Tie
"On the night of my father’s 71st birthday, we burned an extra candle in celebration. His cheery disposition had quelled and slipped into morose. Feathers had grown across his arms in patches, and I could trace blood from the excessive scratching as they burned with irritation. Atarah tried desperately to persuade him to pluck them out, but that only made him more stubborn to keep them."
Vol. 1, Iss. 2:
Tarot Series I
by Kara Dennison
"For all we’d been taught, the dials were delicate scientific instruments that read the vibrations of a soon-to-depart soul and attract them, like a sort of magnetism, to the bed. Half a notch too high or too low and you could turn a soul inside-out or blast it to bits."
Vol. 1, Iss. 1:
Womb, Egg, Phallus, Seed
"Other Mother dances"
by Megan Merchant
"Other Mother dances
the way a long winter
barbs into spring,
a careless arrangement
of arms and legs
as if the music
is as much background
there to pale
against the dark."