Bald-headed Men and Sundays
2014
My boys viewed their mid-1980s births in the old Midway Hospital on University between Porky’s and Ax-Man as an embarrassment, a slight their Saint Paul mom had designed to punish them by withholding the polished corridors of HCMC in their own hometown...
Skeleton of a Nation
2014
jagged rocks dusted red bleed rose water from ancient springs who was baptized here saved and sustained by sacrificial land...
A Little Rock
2014
A rock on the ground, next to the rock a tree, on the tree is a bird, its feathers like the river...
Photograph of My Grandparents
By Korissa Howes ● 2014
Made in black and white Frayed upon the edges Free of wrinkles despite That they were not then My father’s parents Looked so in love...
Art by Bob Muschewske
True Myth
By Heid E. Erdrich ● 2014
Tell a child she is composed of parts (her Ojibway quarters, her German half-heart) she’ll find the existence of harpies easy to swallow. Storybook children never come close to her mix, but manticores make great uncles...
Empty Promise
2014
The world is filled with empty promises. It’s like when you tell a person you love them, and they say it back, but after that y’all never speak again...
In Praise of Aging
2014
In praise of buses rattling through the streets In praise of passengers jostling for a seat In praise of a transfer I didn’t need to buy In praise of snow falling from the sky, and my down coat Bought secondhand but warm...
Hands
2013
Cops know that hands can kill us always, watch the hands hands comfort, carry, bring safety they hold, caress, and lift us...
Night Class
By Nicholas Voss ● 2013
It was an after school program for kids. I was ready like a manatee is ready for ping pong. Just a little clumsy after being tucked away in a collegiate cave while this city extols Saints just down the street. . . . I’ve still got a lot to learn. Like how those science quizzes didn’t apply in the van ride. . . . Where passing is keeping everyone buckled for just 3 more blocks.
A Strange Man Named Hicks
2013
There once was a strange man named Hicks Who yearned to create limericks...
I Remember RONDO
By Moleen (Harris-Davis) Lowe ● 2013
I remember Rondo . . . the streets were cobbled stone. I remember Rondo . . . 450 was our home. I remember Rondo—the intersection Arundel Hill, On one corner the cab station; across the street, Joe’s Grocery Store . . . I remember Rondo, and we never locked our door. I remember Rondo—smiling faces still in my mind