issue three, summerMarch 1st, 2013
|Editors:||Lauren Strain, Chris Holdaway|
|Cover design:||Chris Corson-Scott|
|Contributors:||Jackson Nieuwland, Hera Lindsay Bird, Ross Brighton, Ruby Solly, Gregory Kan, Diane Marie (UK), Alex Mitcalfe Wilson, Dan Nash, Samuel Carey, Angela Shier (USA), Ya-Wen Ho, Stacey Teague, Sarah Natalie Webster, Cameron Churchill, Steve Roggenbuck (USA), Chris Holdaway|
- We are grass-footed
We are grass-footed.
My friends and I have left sadness behind us
crying in the dark branches.
Ahead of us is a field in which
we turn wide circles with our faces.
We are so happy to be here.
Now we are going to learn how
the moon’s children
without breaking any shadows.
In the field we have buried bottles
filled with our hair.
We want to feel safe
so sometimes we just listen.
- Sea in
It’s a fact
that every family has an aunt
with her fingers
behind her back.
She will (probably) inhabit the following
(filling up every corner and fold)
1. A house by the sea.
With more sea in than out.
2. Tent like dresses.
That let her feet become acrobats
dangling from her ankles.
3. The ‘guest’ room.
This simple, fine haired character is not usually a protagonist.
Not even in her own poem / painting / stitching / song.
But upon her fibre
1. You can’t unwhisper a secret.
No matter how loud you scream its antonym.
2. You can’t unmake a baby.
Even if you wipe your slate clean.
3. You can’t unlie a lie.
- My bed is made of wood
Translated by Chris Holdaway from the Spanish (Jaime Sabines, 1926–1999)
My bed is made of wood
and creaks beneath the weight of breathless love,
but my bed is a motionless boat
that takes me where I want to go.
It carries my solitude better than I myself
and knows my dreams
and takes pity on me.
My bed is almost a cloud,
it’s a carpet for the footfalls of my heart.
In half-light, or in darkness,
in my bed I meet my wife, my children, my books,
my memories, and my cigarettes.
And I come across God, sometimes,
in the light of an afternoon like this,
that kisses closed eyelids with its fingertips.
I love my bed because I rest in it as in my death
and there I feel how life may yet triumph.
I am thankful because I have a bed
and it’s the same as if I had a river,
just the same.