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. /
Brandon Downing’s collections of poetry include The Shirt Weapon (2002), Dark Brandon
If April is a bright reminderon the back of his tongue of my leaving, if pollen & cherry smoke congealin his mouth. I wonder if my father knows my new name &
for Derick Sometimes we’re reminded where we’re fromlike the Gila Monster trapped in its cageat the Museum of Natural Historythat everyone else thoughtwas a snake I didn’t correct them maybe that’s what
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The first girl I kissed pushedme against the serrated brickssame color as her busted lip.Transfer student. Eyes familiar withdarkness akin toMidwestern stormcell—the untitled blue I like best. I counted the seconds aftershe
It does not matter if you’re rich in life, As long as you’re rich in heaven. My father, in heaven, smokes Camels. In the spirit months we feast together.Mother plates chicken cutlet, fish soup, Sticky
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was as of yet undefined. The Word had freckles across the bridge of her nose that only showed up in the sunshine, and
my last meal as a girl I dined onsnow. the sky snared my teethbut everyone pretended not to see. the snow was luminous and wet.a blue cat pooled in the eyes ofthe
As a child a painted turtle found me, so I made a cage for him, but by the next morning he had disappeared. I assumed that the turtle was a him because
here’s a story about the woman i love: in my sleep, we wander the museum, & she points out
With a line after Matthea Harvey There’s a house on my palm. it sways with the wind. in our basement, my parents store records in an old crate. they sit reminiscing while
