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CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

Five Poems
by Marina Wilson

Three Continents and Two Years Later

the priest says to honor and obey
and we both want to slide into the pew
I am a terrible catholic

so terrible that I am not even catholic
though you lied to your mother about that, too
nevertheless, you stand tall and beautiful

in your starched suit and we hold hands
like the links of a fence
tight and stretched

the chiffon dress is wrinkled
despite your mother’s best efforts at ironing
and I know she hates me for it

me and my unruly fabric
she wants to pack me off with a bottle of whiskey-honey
and a wool scarf wrapped around my neck

but next thing you know we’re eating spaghetti
and doing the twist in a banquet hall in Cork
and everything American about me sells

and while we’re dancing
I’m thinking about how nothing lasts
otherwise it would last and I wouldn't

have to write this
because we'd be sliding on the shiny parquet
and you’d be drunk and I’d hold you up

and you’d say to me
you’re too beautiful for yourself
and then you’d say it again



The Fucking You’re Getting

Between the fucking you’re getting
and the fucking you’re getting
pray for something pure to happen
pray for a slim shaft of light to hit
the well at the base of your neck

this version of alone
has never been tried before
not with so much company and television
and white russians to wash it down
but I’m lying again
in the city we imagine

Remember that snowstorm
with no one to see you
you stopped
and the sound of your boots
sinking into snow stopped
and there
in the middle of all that quiet
you wiped
one snow carved word
a-s-s-h-o-l-e
from a car door
and watched that word
fall softly to the ground

with your palm—
you wiped everything clean



Bird

Am I your bird?
Am I your soft-feathered yellow?
Am I the one perched on your arm,
my vision split into everything that is you
and everything that is not you?

Am I the brown surrender of a wren?
Am I your perfect pattering singsong of a thing,
your flightless wonder?
Whistle and I’ll come,
making all the birdish gestures.

I’ll lick my plumage pretty for you.
I’ll pack the nest with soft string.
I’m a chirping dummy,
a dimwit, birding back
whatever, whatever

Am I, or am I not your bird—
your one and only yours,
your fluttering minion
in the night cage?

Whistle and I’ll come.

Long Division

Howie says Mina Suvari’s tits are too small
her hips are too wide.
Howie is no Romeo, mind you.
Howie’s potbelly doesn’t like Mina’s tits.
His thick fingers smudge the page,
his eyes narrowing on her waist.

Even the starlet gets a good slinging.
He portions her up
like take-out in greasy cardboard boxes.
Howie’s got me thinking.

Do men really love women, after all?
Which parts
do they love then, which parts?

Don't

don't entertain any one of your neuroses for more than six seconds
don’t worry about your father while brushing your teeth
it won’t do any good and will make your gums bleed
don’t berate yourself, that will also make your gums bleed
don’t be late, again
don’t write anything that might ruffle the feathers of
or otherwise disturb
immediate members of your family don’t imply
that any member of your family has feathers
don’t resent
the styrofoam cup for being
too small for the coffee
don’t talk to your hands in the bathroom
don’t fantasize about kissing strange men in full sunlight
don’t forget to run don’t run
near the silver-blue
hatchback containing a leering man
hovering on the perimeter
of the park don’t forget to be mindful
of any number of quietly parked sedans
which before now you had failed to notice don’t
cover your mouth with your fingers
don’t let the contents of your bag including loose
change poems and tampons spill on the ground don’t
blow another conversation
don’t fail to reread the line about not berating yourself don’t
discuss the sixties, revolution, or sleeping with Japanese
Black Panther members with your mother, it hurts
her feelings, don’t criticize
teenage girls even to yourself, don’t
neglect to thank Margaret for the pink roses on your dresser
not to mention nectarines
don’t be afraid to tell anyone anything
don’t be afraid of words, don’t let
your tank run dry, don’t put dirty dishes in the dishwasher—it’s broken,
don’t put off your laundry, you’ll need plenty of clean underwear
where you’re going