ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

Poem
by Amanda Leigh Lichtenstein


antiques

inside my mother's body
is an antique shop
where my father's
bones lie protected
behind a glass case.
people lean against
the glass and tap,
"may i see
the special slenderness
of his finger bones,
used in his history
to play piano and
eat chicken fat?"
next to my father's
bones lie distinctive
female parts, preserved
and labeled  with fancy
cursive script: vintage—
two shriveled ovaries like
dried chili peppers rest
against a velvet platform.
not for sale—one pale uterus
floats in murky sea water
inside a glass artichoke jar.
small woven baskets filled
with her children's baby
teeth overflow upon
the glass counter like
cool, smooth beads.
the skins of our girl bodies
stretch out like animal hides
along her dark walls.