After Jennifer S. Cheng 1: the sea captured in a glass 2: a homophone for having enough for leftovers, a synonym for abundance 3: the fish, who have already forgotten you. It’s not personal 4: where memory fails, there’s still imagining 5: you. Not as an ocean but outside 6: glass and/or acrylic
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* Voltage-gated pathways are depolarizedand pore-forming membrane proteinsallow calcium influx from adjacent solutions. (Cell insides become saturated) Excitation is mossy fiber runningsouthbound head-stems and paired shootsthrough once-relaxed tissue. * You’ve established rules,preventative
What separates us from our lives / is a see-through thing. /
Winner of the Sonora Review Issue 77 Fiction Contest, selected by Rebecca
yellow hibiscus shrouds the cathedral feet in pieces of sunlight / the church full of sprack / he steps into a cassock / moves down the vestibule
When the world woke from burning / we wiped down the counters / and straightened the dishtowels.
Winner of the Sonora Review Issue 77 Fiction Contest, selected by Rebecca Makkai
I built a sky of my own on my bedroom ceiling. / This sky is bold & bright & blue and I know / the birds will fly away, but it’s okay.
All night, the frost-rimmed windowpane / conducts me into new states of sleep, / while town announcements beckon me back /
from days in my grandmother’s yard, /
Brandon Downing’s collections of poetry include The Shirt Weapon (2002), Dark Brandon (2005), AT ME (2010) and, most recently, Mellow Actions (2013). In 2007 he released a feature-length collection of short digital
lucidity a single rope the way in which there is no way detach allow myself a façade indistinguishable from change walk down the blockinto the empty morning air & here small thingsprecious
After Jennifer S. Cheng 1: the sea captured in a glass 2: a homophone for having enough for leftovers, a synonym for abundance 3: the fish, who have already forgotten you. It’s not
Ctrl+F [Find in document: মুনিরা 0 of 0] I recognise this self. in drawings of koi fish andmenthol slicked lips. in weeks spent searching for all the fishbones in a fillet. warm hands
Stand right there. I’m tired of bad poems about nature. I’m over motherhood and cook tops and sweeping up again and again. I want to walk outside under the beamed overpass without thinking about