QUIET LIGHTNING IS:

a literary nonprofit with a handful of ongoing projects,

including a monthly, submission-based reading series
featuring all forms of writing without introductions or
author banterof which sparkle + blink is a verbatim
transcript. The series moves around to a different venue
every month, appearing so far in bars, art galleries,
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ballroom, a theater, a mansion, a sporting goods store, a
pirate store, a print shop, a museum, a hotel, and a cave.
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2. you only get up to 8 minutes

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sparkle + blink 65
2015 Quiet Lightning
artwork Ryan Martin
ryanmartinart.com
By Chance by Alexander Peterson
was first published by The Rumpus.
Sometimes Pop is Inside the Bottle; Sometimes the Bottle is Inside
of Pop by Daniel Riddle Rodriguez was first published in Literary
Orphans.
book design by j. brandon loberg
set in Absara
Promotional rights only.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form
without permission from individual authors.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the
internet or any other means without the permission of the
author(s) is illegal.
Your support is crucial and appreciated.

quietlightning.org
su bmit@ qui e tli g h tn i n g . o r g

CONTENTS
curated by

Lapo Guzzini and Nora Toomey

featured artist

Ryan Martin

MATT LEIBEL Anaphora

SUZANNAH WEISS

How to Prepare for a Date

MAGGIE TOKUDA-HALL

Miri and the Squid

JARVIS SUBIA

All Hail the Queen

13

A.G. MOORE

Red Ibis

15

HUGH BEHM-STEINBERG

Masked Boobies
17
Mouse-colored Penduline Tits 19

PETER BULLEN Unwise

21

ALICIA FRANCO

Blister Throat
What Took Over

27
28

ALEXANDER PETERSON

By Chance

29

SEAN TAYLOR

When Youre Caught

31

TIM DONNELLY apostrophe

33

CHRISTOPHER DIZON

Mismatched Shoes

37

Sometimes Pop is Inside of the

Bottle; Sometimes the Bottle is
Inside of Pop

43

DANIEL RIDDLE
RODRIGUEZ

PATRICIA CASPERS

Sugar Says

47

E T L IG
I
U
Q

HTNING IS SPONSORED

lagunitas.com

BY

QUIET LIGHTNING
A 501(c)3, the primary objective and purpose of Quiet
Lightning is to foster a community based on literary
expression and to provide an arena for said expression. QL
produces a monthly, submission-based reading series on
the first Monday of every month, of which these books
(sparkle + blink) are verbatim transcripts.
Formed as a nonprofit in July 2011, the board of QL is
currently:
Evan Karp
founder + president
Chris Cole
managing director
Josey Lee
public relations
Meghan Thornton treasurer
Kristen Kramer
chair
Kelsey Schimmelman
Sarah Ciston
Katie Wheeler-Dubin

secretary
director of books
director of films

Sidney Stretz & Laura Cern Melo

art directors
Rose Linke & RJ Ingram
outreach directors
Sarah Maria Griffin & Ceri Bevan
directors of special operations
If you live in the Bay Area and are interested in
helpingon any levelplease send us a line:
e v an @ qui et light nin g . o rg

MMMM

MMMMMMM

ANAPHO RA
Lets pretend like you love me. Lets pretend like
you mean it in the way I want you to mean it. Lets
pretend that Love is a commodity like Orange Juice
or Pork Futures, and that it is publicly traded on the
Chicago Mercantile Exchange. Lets pretend that
Time is merely an illusion, and that the only reason
calendars even exist is because skilled magicians have
been making time disappear since time immemorial.
Lets pretend like you know where the hell Im going
with this. Lets pretend like these light fixtures are
tiny planets. Lets pretend like you love me and you
cant sleep because your heart is pounding and your
mind is racing. Lets pretend like Mind Racing is a fastgrowing all-American pastime thats quickly becoming
as popular as NASCAR, despite the fact that it takes
place entirely within our heads and doesnt involve
spectacular crashes or flying tires on fire or guys named
Kyle sponsored by Marlboro. Lets pretend like gummy
bears are a real kind of bear and that 846 campers a
year in North America are mauled to death by the
green ones alone. Lets pretend that I have the heart
of a Lion. Lets pretend that the Lion is profoundly
uncool with this, and is now furiously chasing after
me in a desperate effort to retrieve his severed heart.
1

Lets pretend my heart is beating as fast as the lion is

running, and that Richard the Lion-Hearted, certainly,
would have something to say about all of this, were he
available. Lets pretend that we live in dangerous times.
Okay, we dont need to pretend this, but lets pretend
like we do. Lets pretend Im holding the Moon for
ransom. Lets pretend that I will return the Moon in
exchange for a years supply of delicious Moon Pies.
Lets pretend the before picture is the after picture.
Lets pretend there are people Ive never seen before
at the afterparty. Lets pretend like were still the same
people we were before we saw the afterbirth.
Lets pretend that street signs provide us with emotional
direction. Lets pretend you love me and I ask you to
prove your love for me by boosting my Klout score
with Twitter testimonials and positive Yelp feedback.
Lets pretend that weve just arrived from outer space
and want to know where to find inner peace. Lets
pretend that our best days are behind usand that
theyre about to jump us, and snag our wallets. Lets
pretend I can read your thoughts. Lets pretend that
Ive already read your thoughts and thought that even
though they were well-written, they werent all that
likable, they had no real narrative arc, plus the whole
constantly-worrying-about-the-end-of-civiliization
thing is kind of played out, dont you think? Lets
pretend that hats have their own sexuality, and that at
any moment the stacked hats humping each other in
hat shops are feeling the highest heights of hatgasmic
pleasure. Lets pretend like mentioning self-loathing
2

as a hobby on an online dating profile isnt a flag so

red it draws actual blood through the keyboard. Lets
pretend that the Moon is my homeboy. Lets pretend
that in addition to grilled cheese, there is something
called a politely-questioned cheese sandwich.
Lets pretend that I have recently set the world record
for peanut butter consumption in a single sitting, and
that this achievement, combined with my subsequent
appearance on the Charlie Rose program, is enough to
make you want me. Lets pretend that there is an app
for growing a well-groomed mustache. Lets pretend
that there is a superhero named Superficial Man.
Lets pretend that my love for you is not just a feeling
in my brain, but also a spokescharacter for a popular
childrens cereal called Love Bites. Lets pretend
that weve all learned an important lesson here
tonight about the dangers of anaphora, the literary
technique of deliberately repeating a word or phrase
at the beginning of every verse, paragraph or sentence.
Lets pretend that you love me, or at least that youre
interested in moving to the Moon with me, if only
to save on rent, or because youre intrigued by the
possibilities of zero-gravity Yoga, or because you just
need a change of scene. Lets pretend that you love me,
and that we get married, and that I suggest we have
our Honeymoon on the Moon, and that when we get
there, the Moon is covered in Honey, and then I freak
out because our bungalow is swarming with MoonBees, and you say its all my fault for taking language
so goddamn literally.
Mat t Le i be l

Lets pretend that Ive ruined everythingincluding

these beautiful ruins of Bronze Age Amphora
vases. Lets pretend that I can build it all back again,
anaphorically speaking.

HOW

SS
SS

SSSSSSSSS

TO PREPARE FOR A DATE

1. Formulate answers to possible questions about

your family that paint you as endearingly
dysfunctional rather than mentally ill. Dont get
all Freudian.
2. Prepare to back up your arbitrary opinions and
vague impressions with concrete facts: Which
lines of dialogue point to Ross being such an
asshole on Friends? Is it statistically true that
most American adults own coffee machines?
3. Brainstorm a few accomplishments over the past
week that make you seem like a well-rounded
person with hobbies. Exclude anything involving
your anarchist study group or your Shaman
circle.
4. Decide in advance what you wont blurt out
during awkward silences: Does anyone want
to know your opinion on urinals? Are your
childhood masturbation habits first-date
material?
5. Keep a few non-threatening topics of
5

conversation at hand: Whats the deal with

rhinoceri? Theyre like fat unicorns. No, not
that. Think of something better than that.
6. Flip through the last novel you read to sound like
youve been reading something besides French
feminist philosophy and self-help guides on
communing with angels.
7. Determine how to explain your suspicious areas
of expertise: Cognitive behavioral therapy?
Learned about it in college. Object sexuality?
There was an article in Psychology Today (which
you did not find in your therapists waiting
room). Satanic rituals? You had this crazy
roommate one time.
8. In case you really dig yourself into a hole,
formulate excuses for leaving that sound specific
enough to be real: Ive got to bring my friend
Stephanie some collage materials for a vision
board that manifests her goals. You can learn
about it on Oprah.
9. Check for aberrations in your appearance, such
as unremoved cat jewelry, laundry-shrunken bras
that dont cover the entire boob, or makeup that
leaves your neck and chin different colors.
10. Do breathing exercises.

M
MM

MMMMMMMMMMMM

M IRI AND THE S Q UI D

MM

Miri went on a date with a squid, and it was exactly

what she deserved.
The squid was shorter than its profile promised, but
Miri was used to that. The squid was also very nervous,
having just gotten out of a long-term relationship, and
it admitted as much. Dating was rough, Miri offered,
and the squid agreed, and they laughed about it, but it
didnt make the squid any less uncomfortable.
This date, she knew, was the karmic retribution she
had to pay for her last relationship, which she was
singularly responsible for destroying. And so when
they walked into the coffee shop that was, until a few
months ago, Miris neighborhood coffee shop, she
wasnt at all surprised to see that barista was the same,
pretty tattooed girl who had always taken Miri and
Bens orders, when this was the coffee shop that they
shared. But the squid had chosen the spot, so what
could Miri say?
The squid ordered a chai, and the barista looked
at Miri with a face that said: So youre on a date
with a squid, huh? And Miri wasnt even mad, just
7

ashamed because yes, yes she was on a date with a

squid, and honestly it was the most promising date
shed been on in the terrible months since Ben had
dumped her. She and the squid were both big Game
of Thrones fans, and both played a lot of Mario Kart,
and the squids messages had been polite and funny, or
funny-ish, which was good enough.
So Miri got an espresso, and didnt put any sugar in it,
because she couldnt stand the thought of the barista
judging her and the squid any more than she already
clearly was. The squid was pretty good looking for a
squid, but still a squid, a squid who ordered sugary
drinks. The espresso tasted like all the bitterness Miri
deserved, and also her name was spelled incorrectly on
the cup.
When the squid asked her what she did for a living,
Miri knew the date was taking a turn for the boring,
and that her less than impressive answer was a result of
her own flagging ambition and that she could hardly
feel sorry for herself when confronted with her own
mediocrity. You reap what you sow, after all, and Miri
had not sown seeds for success.
I work in admin, she said, and the squid didnt have
any follow-up questions.
They were sitting in an ocean of uncomfortable
silence when Miris chair self-destructed, the back left
leg snapping off with a CRACK that alerted everyone
8

in the caf to Miris unending embarrassment, a

punishment, Miri knew, for not going to the gym, and
letting her body go soft, and for eating all of those
refined sugars.
She picked herself off the ground, her face not so much
red as it was the color of a shame supernova, and the
barista asked her if she was OK but didnt apologize
about the chair, and the squid tried unhelpfully to
pick Miri off the ground with its many tentacles, all
the while asking Are you OK, are YOU OK, ARE YOU
OK, which just made Miri feel worse, but she smiled
and said she was indeed OK OK OK, and her smile
seemed to mollify the squid.
And when they stepped out of the coffee shop, Miri
stepped into a pile of dog shit and also her hair burst
into flames. And as the squid tried to put out Miris
hair with its flailing tentacles and also Miris coat, one
of the buttons caught her in the eye, and Miri yelped
and the squid apologized, but Miri said, that no, it was
OK, she was OK, even though her scalp still smoldered
and her foot smelled like shit, and she laughed a little,
which helped the squid laugh a little, but mostly it still
looked concerned.
She was about to say that she should probably go
home now, when a flying saucer descended from the
sky, just over the heads of Miri and the squid, and shot
a laser at Miri, and with a POOF it dematerialized
Miris clothes into dust, leaving her naked and cold,
Ma ggi e Toku da - H a ll

and then it flew away again as though its sole mission

in the universe was to ruin Miris day, and everyone on
the street was looking and pointing and murmuring,
which was awful but also exactly what Miri suspected
people did when she walked by anyway, because she
was always a mess, even when she wasnt naked and
bald and dipped in dog shit.
And even though the squid didnt need to wear clothes
at all, it clearly understood how uncomfortable Miri
must be and offered to go buy her some clothes, and
asked if she was cold, if her head hurt, and marveled
at her bad luck but Miri just said she was OK over and
over again, even though her chin trembled.
You dont seem OK, the squid said.
Really, Miri said. She couldnt help it, she was crying,
and how embarrassing it was to cry, to cry on a date, to
cry on a date with a squid. What goes around comes
around, she said.
The squid gave her a confused look and asked her what
she could possibly mean by that.
And Miri explained about how Ben had left her for
not helping with the dishes more often, but mostly for
gaining so much weight, and how she worked a stupid
boring job because she had no ambition, and how she
was fat because she was lazy, and how she stepped
in dog shit all the time because she was careless
10

and graceless, and she was subject to spontaneous

combustion due to her poor flossing habits, and aliens
often attacked her out of the blue because she never
prayed to the good Lord Jesus Christ like her mother
had told her to so many times as a child, and she was
weeping, weeping as she confessed the truth of her
horrid karmic standing.
That is the most absurd fucking thing I have ever
heard, the squid told her. No one deserves all of
that just for being a human. And also, aliens are real
assholes.
And the squid took Miri back to its apartment. The
squid made her some tea with honey, and then rubbed
aloe onto her burnt scalp, and wrapped her naked
body in a warm, woolen blanket.
Are you feeling better? The squid asked, and Miri said
she was. Well, the squid said. I think youre pretty
OK, Miri. You handle bad luck with grace and charm,
and you look good burnt and also bald, and your laugh
makes me smile, even if your bad luck does not.
And Miri laughed, and told the squid that the squid
was pretty OK, too, and especially kind in this
moment, what with her baldness, and her nakedness,
and her tears and her bad, bad luck, and how pleased
and grateful she felt for that care and for that kindness.
And they didnt so much have sex as they just held
Ma ggi e Toku da - H a ll

11

each other, the squids tentacles hugged tight and

reassuring around Miris body, pushing the folds of her
flesh into configurations that were both pleasurable
and comfortable, and she was so happy for the softness
of herself then, for the pliability of her body, for its
heft, and fat rolling tears dripped off her chin, and she
was so glad the squid was no taller or they would not
fit together so gracefully, so aptly, entwined as only
woman and squid can be, and it was like the opposite
of punishment, it was like relief. It was relief from her
constant expectation of failure and it was good, and it
was warm, and in her mouth still echoed the taste of
honey.
And it was exactly what she deserved.

12

JJJJ

JJJJJJJJ

A L L H A IL T H E Q U E E N
I learned the definition of fierce today:
To allow the body to become display;
An acrobat of frizzed hair,
And color,
And Cheetah print
Pushed through fishnet;
This is who I am
When I no longer want to be myself,
When the myself that I am
Looks more like green lashes and heels.
This is when to vogue.
You betta werk
Like the stage is a hot plate
And you are sizzling oil.
Gurl, It takes a lot of taped up balls
To hold down that much confidence.
Serving face like you are the buffet.
Slaying the whole damn crew with your
Shimmy, cross over, shimmy, split, belly roll
All gazes surrendered to the hips
That say, we are the truth.
A vanity chest pried open
Spilling glitter onto the stage,
The most florescent shade of blood-pride.
13

And we drink tea

And talk about how this is not drag
But the most fascinating thing weve seen in all our
boyhood,
And we sing hail, and we sing hail, and we sing hail.

14

AAAAAAAAAA

R E D I B IS
Menagerie is a word whose meaning is known

but not to be trusted. When I say menagerie
I see glasses of cut blue light from which no one

is drinking. Your hands, which did not and do not
belong to me. Wild animals, yes, but fixed: swaddled

and tarred. Things a child might play with.
In an alpine garden you crushed my mouth with a stone.
I swallowed my teeth, thinking This is what must be done
to make the stones stony again. The taste of earth is nothing
like a body. Its conspicuous lack of salt. The stone was
your mouth on my mouth. The stone was a very old word,
unspeakable.

You stood close and I stood close. I watched the red ibis
maneuver through the grasses. Close but not touching.
These heart-colored animals.
Remember? That first day in Paris there were parades. Streets
full of brown bodies and bright costumes. I followed you, for the
first time, home. Love is a lurid thing. The first day we moved
quickly through the bustle. The rest was covetous crawling.
You undressed me in view of an open window, though you
remained clothed. My nipples hardened under your appraisal.
15

Stories tell me theres a heart underneath.

The plumage is ostentatious
because nature is ostentatious. The fanning of something I have felt

inwardly, shyly. Scarlet wings dipped in ink.
Could the red ibis disappear, if it wanted to?
One can be everywhere if one can go unseen.
We had rules about touching. One morning you taught me to
fold paper cranes. Those neat creases a reprieve from skin.
A bird in the palm says stillness is a talent.
You can own a person through deprivation. Youd think
only dogs could hunger like that.
(By love I mean anything that plays at
delicacy when it is really brutality.)
When beauty is too raw to live with, the poet can turn
to aesthetics. Does my stillness take the shape of
the room or the shape of my body? Does the red ibis hate
its cage? The bars keep those pale
staring people out.
I pressed my ear to your chest, listening for the thing
stories have told of. I imagined the forms it might take:
a stone older than words; the eggs of prehistory; a pit
in the fruit from which everything comes. Upon further

consideration: a flightless bird. A bruise on the bone.

16

H
HH

HHHHHHHHHHHHH

M ASK E D B O O BIE S

HH

From Spanish slang Bobo, meaning stupid. Because

being so trusting they would land on ships at sea;
they were easily captured and eaten by sailors. But its
been a long time, theyre smarter now.
The eyes corrugate yet once were sharp. Were later,
looking out, were banded and eating breakfast.
A thing to cap your floppy self. To investigate all your
mysteries. A big to do that wont hurt. Like going
to the gym.
Your friends are exiles and they complain you dont
understand you live in your office and you get
one or two words
but they turn in essays damp with breath, smelling of
flowers you can never name, never will.
I know Im in my forties because more people I know
have cancer. So is this poem about
being smart or dying, or where have you been?
Masked boobies murder their siblings.
Death death death, yeah yeah yeah. Fuckity fuck
fuck fuck. Conspicuous and distinct. Like Im
17

twenty-five and that was all I ever wrote about,

my mouth open and my chin quivering like a boobie
calling to her chick. Not as bright as I thought I
was.
Masked boobies build shallow flat nests, so the larger
chicks expel their smaller siblings who then die.
So when you see them youre watching murderers,
when they flirt, they point at the sky
and the sky lets go. When they couple they dont see.
They make love in the dark. I worry all the time.
Books worn out
so much they only live in memory. Only your body
belongs to me. I wont have it forever. Your
thoughts rain on my head.
Despair is easy and sexy. The masked boobies do their
dances and hunt. Spectacular divers, plunging
diagonally into the ocean at high speed.
Maybe youre not hurt. Or its an exercise regimen
and youre starting to feel sore. Stronger and sore.
Say hello to your birds. Theyll say brother, and youll
look behind you. In your pockets nothing
but chains, something to sharpen on the grinding
wheel before you walk to the beach.

18

MOUSE-COLORED
PENDULINE TITS
Whole are the nights we cut them into pieces,
beneath nests which dangle are you ready?
Incorporating a false entrance above the true
entrance which leads to a false chamber.
The true nesting chamber is accessed by the parent
opening a hidden flap, entering
the poem and wondering if youre in the real poem or
the fake part of your life you wonder
where the good is and then closing the flap shut
again, the two sides sealing with spider webs.
Ok, in my real life Im friendly I keep handing out
birds Im in love Im still in love
I never run out of birds the mouse-colored penduline
tits are busy making more mouse-colored
penduline tits. Theyre such active foragers. Their
long conical bills probe into cracks and
prise open holes. They sing Im the means of re-birth
baby Ive got tattoos for you,
let me place one on the most secret uncorrupted part
of you.

H u gh Be hm- St e i nbe rg

19

PPP

PPPPPPPPP

U N W ISE
It wasnt that I got the idea to have an affair with my
mentors wife. I didnt have the idea, I had
the fantasy, a different thing, practically harmless.
She had the idea. Was it because she could tell
I was having the fantasy, and wanted to show me
what reality looked like?
It started in a supermarket, not a setting Id ever have
associated with the beginning of torrid
relations, but then again, Id had no torrid relations.
We were on a grocery run for her husband.
Vegetables were needed to go with their steak and he
was out of whiskey. We were very quiet,
and I was wishing I had the gift of gab, being seldom
alone with her, and wanting to be able to
say a clever thing or two, make her smile. Wed just
bagged some Brussels sprouts when she
grabbed my arm so hard it hurt. She looked at me
very directly. I wanted her to loosen her grip
but at the same time was glad she had hold of me.
Patrick, I need a distraction in my life right now. I
want us to sleep together, like next week. I
dont enjoy simply thinking about it, I hope to like
21

doing it. Its painful to admit, but her tone

was not brimming with optimism.
I dont want you taking this the wrong way, she
added. I was without a way of any kind to take
it.
Her face got closer to mine.
Im creatively blockedmy husband is promiscuous;
youre always around.
I could feel her breath, the intense proximity of her
body. I was under a kind of erotic duress.
Oh, I said. Longer sentences felt out of reach.
Youre malleable, and I need a man wholl take directions. I would take directions, that was
true. If I was going to be sleeping with my mentors
wife, I would be needing directions.
I have a hunch you can provide relief, even inspiration, she said. I had no idea what had led her
to such a conclusion. I was wonderstruck. No woman
would ever speak this way to me again, of
that I was certain.
I want us to work on a schedule. An organized
approach is best, dont you think? she said.
I felt sure there was no orderly path to spending time
22

in bed with my mentors wife. Doug, her

husband was a man I admired, a man whod thrown
me a lifeline when I was down in the dumps.
I was counting on him to usher me into a creative,
worthwhile life. He was a poet, and I aspired
to be one myself.
You dont sleep with that mans wife.
Im thinking once a week for about an hour and a
half, depending on your skills, she said,
smiling. I didnt find the skills reference particularly
funny.
It was not an option, because of what it would do to
my relationship with Doug. If I lost Doug,
what would I be left with? She had not implied that
she was looking to replace her husband. An
hour and a half a week was a finite period of time,
and by the sounds of it, she was seeking the
intimate encounter to help with a clogged creative
pipe. She was a short story writer. Perhaps
she needed to engage in bizarre and doomed activity,
so she could pen edgier fiction. I stood there
looking at her, sure I was about to say that
although this was the most flattering proposal
Id ever received, there was no way I could go
along with it. I readied myself for the strong
statement. It never came.
I dont want you pretending to be gallant, principled,
P e t e r Bu lle n

23

and loyal. That would be tiresome. Most

men would jump at the chance to sleep with me.
I was struck by her clairvoyance. Loyalty and
principle were key parts of the presentation I
would have made, given a little more time.
Im thinking about the Seascape Motel, the one with
the big blue sign you see from the freeway.
Do you know it?
Ive seen it.
Tuesday at three works for me. Doug isnt home till
five-thirty. Hes very serious about his
poetry students on that particular day, probably
because hes fucking one of them.
Sarah, this is not something I can do, you must know
that.
I want you to listen to me closely. We dont have a lot
of time. We are not going to get into a lot
of talk. A woman, a wife, doesnt make a decision
like this lightly. I want you to know Im deadly
serious. Ive made up my mind. Its important for
you to know, since youre involved.
I told myself I was not involved. We were just two
people talking in a supermarket.

24

I cant, I said.
Give me a break. Can we be real here for a moment?
How often do you expect to get an offer like this?
Never again I imagine. And of course, I would love
to, but your husband means a lot to me; he
has changed my life.
I like him too Patrick, but thats neither here nor
there. In any case, he stands to benefit from an
improvement in my mood. Youll be doing him a
favorthink of it that way.
I did not believe that was a credible way to look at it.
I cant Sarah. It stands to destroy a relationship I
cherish.
Patrick, dont be such a drama queen. Ill give you
something to cherish, believe me.
She winked. I felt Id been let into a club I was in no
way credentialed for. The grip I had on my
protests came loose.
And something about that wink, what I imagined it
promised, broke the dam.
I believe you, I said. A woman Id found mesmerizingly attractive was putting her foot down,
P e t e r Bu lle n

25

forbidding me to wiggle out of sleeping with her.

It was hard to think of as bad news.
So its a date then? she said.
It is, I replied.
Back in my apartment that evening I was jumpy as
hell. I knew Id agreed to something crazy. In
a small, suicidal type way, I was glad I had.
But Doug had welcomed me into his life, told me my
writing had potential. I had felt like a fullfledged
person in his company.
Now Id made a plan to sleep with his wife.
I made several trips to the bathroom, sure I was about
to vomit.
The morning of our date I drank a glass of vodka, but
remained terribly uneasy, the way you can be
when youve had one of those lifelike dreams in
which youve knocked someone off, or someone
is close to knocking you off. And the police
know that either youre the killer, or youre about
to be killed. But it doesnt matter which, because
they just cant get there in time to prevent it.

26

AAA

AAAAAAAAAA

BLISTER THROAT
I mouth creep to florescent gun
in constant birth
I wire the itch
fasten onto antic sky
half-stitched sun
farewell brave rib
hammer round my salt
beak, its overdue night
neck always in loop
I am the milk inside
the doorway, pallid
eyes curbing thistle
dress the worms under
my breathI knot

27

WHAT TOOK OVER

our arms pinned in prayer
discarded and uneaten
hidden in lunch sacks
as our lungs carried
newborns breeding
from mouths
gushed with static
we braced the backwoods
I opened up my coin purse
where words gave birth
howled up our ears
where mosaic blood plates
scraped each corner
of our splintered kernels

28

AA

AA
AA

AAAAAAAAA

BY CHANCE

AA

Lets say youre walking down the street one afternoon

and there, just at the corner of your vision, you spot
someone you used to know. And when I say know, I
mean loved. Every detail about the former self that
loved that person is vivid again: where you lived
together, that basement apartment next to the train
station that rattled every thirty minutes, the coffee
shop you used to go to on Saturday mornings, the music
you listened to then, years ago now, one particular
song surfacing suddenly and playing on repeat in your
mind. But you dont say hello. The sidewalk traffic,
swirling like an ocean eddy, opens then closes just as
fast and that other person is gone again, returned to
the impossible crowd of strangers. All in a matter of
seconds.
This is one person out of billions on the planet,
thousands in your city, hundreds on the street. Her
name might still be in some of the books on your shelf
because they were actually her books, but you couldnt
even say which ones anymore. The randomness of the
encounter might haunt you all day, possibly longer.
You might go to your office and Google her name.
You might calculate the odds of seeing her again,
29

change which way you walk to lunch. Or maybe you

dont think about it five minutes after it happens,
because why would you? It was a former life. Maybe
you mention it to your best friend casually, like an
interesting article you found online about something
that happened to someone else. There is no correct
response, only the one you have when it happens to
you.
In the meantime, its more common to be hit by
lightning than win the lottery, more common to be in
a car accident than fall in love. Those are the odds. Your
current lover was a stranger once, too, among many.
And maybe she occasionally passes by someone she
used to know, and by know I mean loved, or someone
she will love one day in a future life. But its best not to
think about that. Its better to think of life the way a
passenger thinks about flying, which is to say rarely if
at all. Yes, its dangerous and improbable that a mass of
steel and glass can be kept aloft by unseen forces, but
it happens. It happens every day.

30

SSSS

W H EN Y O

SSSSSSS

U R E C A U G H T

In the cab home, with your hair brushed back, already

slip showing, you mouthed three numbers and a
street name. Carrying you up a staircase built to wear
us down, your heels tapped on every doorframe to
say. Im not that difficult, take me home. Its your
curtains laced with wind chimes that stop me. Its your
windows always open on the fifth floor, and for some
reason, never cold.
Youre caught, living, when you talk in your sleep.
When you breathe on your back, youre caught,
whistling. I caught you singing, so I stayed.
I stayed, spent, smiling. I dashed water upon your lips,
and to this, you carried a note straight out the front
door. I was listening. The luxury of dirty wine kept
you humming, bars in bars, two part harmonies over
two small blocks. In your sleep, do you sing more in
the winter to keep warm, or in the summer to let out
the heat? I thought I caught your thumbs drumming
on your hips. I saw your big toe curl, as if wincing,
when the wind came in flat. Can you hear me? Im
wandering lost in your apartment when I find a
note on the back of your front door that reads:
31

Hey, sometimes, I sing in my sleep, Im sorry. If you

hear it can you please push record. There is a tape deck
on my bedside table.
So I did, and I caught the three a.m. foghorns, the
metronome of my wristwatch, and the sporadic stomp
of your upstairs neighbors. As soon as that click came
in, as soon as that tape started recording, you stopped
singing. Your subconscious must have stage fright,
because you went quietly into what was left of the
night.
In the morning I woke to you asking, as you played
the tape back, Did I sing? You did press record? You
stammered. You were the voice of wonder, as that
rewound sound kept feathering the air, like a broken
time machine. Hardly awake enough to break a
strangers heart, I said, instead, Im sorry, Im a pretty
deep sleeper.

32

TTT

TTTTTTTTT

A P O ST R O P H E
I was doing this cleansing
juice fast
returning from mailing and
picking up packages
when the Marilyn poster on
the door to my apartment
made a kind of snorting sound
hallucinations
great
but what did that sound
remind me of
twas the weekend before Christmas
Tony came to me
looking like he did near the end
face a skull
picking absently at a yellow
crust on his lips
and rolling it into a ball
Doesnt feel so nice does it
do you still grudge me the cigarette burns
when food tastes like sandpaper and snot

33

No Tony I miss you

Liar you wrote a poem about it
Thats just the metaphor
its about how I wanted to
heal you
Cut it he said
and with a fabulous
slice of the wrist
became Vintage Tony
bowery boy cap
television hair
in steam pressed houndstooth gabardine
boldly wearing belt and suspenders
because hes checked the period fashion magazines
and thats how they did it
Wow Tony you look hot
he closed his eyes like a purring cat
raised a clove cigarette to his perfect again face
Remember when we exchanged powers
way back in the 80s
I mean I guess it took hunh
you learned how to keep a job and I how to keep a man
So are you happy over there

34

Its okay
the parties arent as much fun as they used to be
he leaned in then
You want to know what
Miguelito is up to these days
Gee Im pretty sure I dont Tony
Fucken right you dont
but on that note I wanted to tell you
its time you settled down you know
and seeing how youre all alone
he rolled his eyes
On a saturday night
you will be visited by
three ex boyfriends
Holy shit you mean like dead ones
I dont think you have three dead ones
you always were a lucky prick
arrogant too
I like that in a fag
Good god Tony you dont mean tonight
with the place looking like this
and me looking like this
Ti m Donne lly

35

he threw back his head for the

evil villain laugh
Mwah ha ha ha ha
but as he faded he said
April fools
See ya Tony
I said to my apartment

36

CC
CC

CCCCCCCCCC

CC

MISMATCHED SHOES

When Katherine looked from over her book and

saw that familiar pair of mismatched shoes, she
remembered all the things she wanted. She wanted
an escape route lined with orange traffic cones.
She wanted a fortune teller with a crystal ball and
authentic psychic powers. If she couldnt have Doc
Browns flying DeLorean, then an average portal to an
alternate dimension would do. More than anything,
she wanted to not think about what came next.
It was like driving with a cop car tailing close behind.
She measured him up while he scratched the back of
his head. He was choosing his words and she could see
the careful seconds he counted out over the top of his
head. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Threeone-thousand.
Hey, he said.
Hey, she said.
She stared at him for a moment without saying
anything. Her palms were moist and she couldnt
stop fidgeting. Without realizing it, she rolled the
37

paperback book into a cylinder and bent the cover in

awkward creases. She had no pockets and didnt know
where to put her hands.
How are you? she asked.
Im good.
She watched as he wiggled the heel of his right foot
around. His shoe was untied.
And you? he asked.
Im okay. Theres just so much to think about.
Yeah. He paused. You dyed your hair, he said.
Yeah. I thought Id try black. Do you like it?
Its nice. My favorite look was blue, but it doesnt
matter. Every color suits you.
He scratched his neck. She took off her glasses and
rubbed the bridge of her nose. A tall silence crept in
and took a seat in front of them. His knees were two
crumpled balls of paper. The gaps of her pants showed
skin that looked just as pale. The two of them had worn
their denims down to holes at the knees. They even
had on the same brand of shoes, except Katherines
feet matched.

38

Its on the wrong hand, you know. She watched him

cross his arms. Its supposed to be on the left, he said.
She twisted the metal band around her finger.
I know. Im just not used to walking around with it. I
figure Id wear it on my right for now. Its like practice.
She watched him smile. It was a toothless grin. From
underneath those lips she could see his chipped tooth.
She remembered his real smiles and how that missing
piece of bone forced anyone that looked at him to take
him less seriously.
Are you excited about moving?
Im nervous. She was still clutching the book and
wringing it like a wet towel. The book was new, but
the cover was ruined. Its all just so scary.
He took the novel out of her hand and placed it on
the table. On the cover was a blue mirage of a woman
in the night sky. There were red lips in the center of
the cover with bright lights underneath. He took a seat
across from her in the empty chair. It was an old copy
of The Great Gatsby.
Think of it as an adventure. New place, new people,
new everything, he said.
I havent even left and I already feel homesick.
Chri st oph e r Di zon

39

The parking lot was fuller now. She watched the front
of the caf while a woman struggled to get into the
door. She was opening the door first so that the she
could push in the stroller, but the large bags that hung
from her arms made it hard to maneuver. The boy
with the mismatched shoes ran over to help her out.
While Katherine watched him come back, she stared
at his shoes. The right foot was yellow and the left
was green. They were a dirty mismatched pair of high
top converse all stars. She cared nothing of the As or
baseball, but those two colors grew on her. She liked
the way they looked next to each other.
Itll be epic, Kath. In a few weeks you wont even think
about this place. You wont even miss it.
Youre just being nice.
I am nice. He flashed a genuine smile. She could see
his chipped tooth. Except nothing was missing and
his smile was perfect. People walked past them and
through the door. The afternoon crowd was coming
in for their caffeine fix. Katherine bent down to tie
his shoe. He didnt say thank you, but she didnt mind.
Are you guys done here? It was the woman with the
baby and the overstuffed bags.
She said yes at the same time that he said no.
Were just finishing up.
40

She didnt hug him when she left the caf. Katherine
tried her best not to look back and see if he was
watching her. She heard footsteps but when she
turned around no one was there.

Chri st oph e r Di zon

41

DD

DD
DDD

DDDDDDDDDD

DD

DD

S O M E TI M E S P O P IS I N S I D E
O F THE BO
TT L E ; S O M E TI M E S
THE BOT
T L E IS I N SI D E O F P O P

Or at least thats what he says, your pop, mornings

when you find him dawdle walking around the kitchen,
dazzle-eyed and tart with the smell of Morgan. I was
inside the bottle this time, hed say. And Mom twists
her face, slams their bedroom door.
Pop becomes a different man when he gets inside
the bottle. He disappears himself. A little scotch and
soda water, hes a brand new guy. Mom is onto his act
though, says its not that new. You can see for yourself,
she says. God I know I gave you eyes.
The new guy is taller than Pop (You can see for yourself.).
He wears cotton tank tops and flexes his arms when he
talks. Hes a smoker, too, and hours after hes left the
living room you can still smell the air of him. The way
a spent match takes over your coat pocket, some stale
thing that settles into the fibers. And look at how he
eats, Mom says, pointing with her fork across the table.
The new guy chomping pizza. Cheese looping from
his mouth, thick and white as spit on a bulldog. Hes
a problem, she says, stabbing her plate. A big one.
43

It used to be Pop worked a dry week and only brought

out the new guy on off-days. Sundays mostly. It worked
like this: Pop got inside of the bottle and New Guy
got out. He used to jump up and down, pumping his
fists whenever the Raiders took over. New Guy yelled
at the screen, cursed refs. Fucking Magoos, all of them,
hed say. When they scored, he did a little Juba dance
in the living room before spiking the remote, sending
broken pieces of plastic everywhere. And Mom would
slam their door, then, same as she does now, but gently
gently. Soft because she knew, come morning, Pop
would be on his hands and knees, picking plastic out
the carpet fibers, a white-flag look on his face and
eye-owe-you in his mouth. This was when he was still
working the Frito-Lay factory at the foot of Grant
Avenue. Back then hed stuff Hefty bags full of potato
chips and shoulder the goods like a velvet sack, and
youd get fat on chips till the salt split your tongue.
Then all of a sudden hes laid off and spending more
and more time climbing into the bottle, practicing his
magic trick. The only chips he shoulders these days are
proverbial.
This is what you know: New Guy speaks in quids and
pro quos but does not like ultimatums. You know this
because he says so. All the time. He says so in church
when he skips the wafer line to abuse the Eucharist
cup, streaks of burgundy in his beard. He says so at the
supermarket, full basket in the check-out line and the
card aint cutting it. Run it again, New Guy tells the
clerk, winking at her like God didnt give Mom eyes.
44

Third times the charm, right? And when Mom drops a

stack of bills onto his lap like an anvil, her face all what
the fuck? New Guy is out the door without a worda
skinny sweaty man, shadow getting long.
Sometimes Pop defends the new guy. He tries to play
at devils advocate. Let go and let God, he tells us. I
mean, it is what it is, right? And then he goes on about
the new guy isnt so bad, after all; how if you only
knew what it was like being a new guy; how difficult it
is to catch a break with those wrists of his, thin as they
are; to shoulder the world with arms so small. Cut the
guy some slack, Pop says. Atlas gotta shrug sometime,
right?
New Guy shrugged off another job search today so
he could stand in the doorway and pick paint chips
off the lintel, drop them onto the kitchen floor. Mom
is at the stove, putting matchsticks to the pilot light.
Sauntering up, New Guy palms her bathrobe pockets
from behind, pulling her into his crotch and holding
her there till she squirms free. Ive got the gas on, Mom
says in a voice like she means it this timea snapped
string on a guitar. You want to blow us up? She cocks
her arm and throws the box of matches at New Guy,
hitting him square in the mouth. And then its like
everything in the kitchen stops to see what hes going
to do, except he isnt doing anything but staring at the
floor as if hes counting up the matches. Mom cocks
her head like she wants something from him that he
doesnt have. And now, seeing he doesnt have it, she
Dani e l Ri ddle Rodri gu e z

45

walks out the room, leaving New Guy behind. Alone.

Standing there like some lone General, surveying land
shelled to rubble on his order, and what he surveyed he
didnt like. And for a moment you can see Pop again, a
flash in the face, some gathered force quaking in the
eyebrows. Behind the eyes, a man tied to a chair, gagged
stupid and bleeding. He opens the freezer door, snags
a bottle from the iceboxbrown liquor, swashbuckler
on the labeland brings it to his lips.
Abracadabra, Pop says, disappearing.

46

PP
PP

PPPPPPPPPPP

SUGAR SAYS
Your mind is a rusted maze of junkyard castaways,
your tongue a lazy Rottweiler on a chain.
No one will love you like I do.
Whos going to cast a line into the heavens,
let it sink into nights deep pools,
reel in constellations star by glittering star
and offer them to you in a bright birch basket?
No matter, it will never be enough.
Listen stupid girl,
one more mouthful and its time.
The closed sign is written in your own red
calligraphy.
Put it in the shop window now.
All of those cicadas you heard at twilight,
they never were calling your name.

47

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