Cold Fire

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The closing stanza of William Pearson’s poem “Winter Broken” reads,

“We weren’t each other’s audience that night, but, just as the
evenly spaced halogen suggested, and the polystyrene
melting on your big hat, your hair
getting caught in our mouths when kissing, your
wearing too much makeup, your remaining
unaware of how cold it was
outside my car,
under the stars,
with which, from our distance,
whether turning clockwise
or counterclockwise, we made a meaningful axis.
And in these paper-lined boxes, nearly empty
but expanding and loud,
tiled with wrinkles in incredible relief,
uncurling into tiny ellipses, each of them,
filling up with snow.”

With an intellectuality and ease, Pearson presents an atmospheric work that spirals around the reader, cold and clear, creating movement as complex and fluid as falling flakes with only words and commas. Be sure to read the whole piece in our first issue to get the full effect!

willpearson
Photo Credit: Ruairí
(http://pricklygoo.com/2010/11/28/sound-silence-and-snow/)

Catholic Conflagration

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A short piece of Nicolette Ward’s “Hey, Jesus” reads,

“When it was over and it seemed as though there would neither be declarations of undying love or ecstatic fluttering from the caged thing I’d been, nor hellfire, immediate divine retribution or mourning for a lost innocence, I understood the nature of Catholic promises. These are negotiable, subject to technicalities and fine print. These are the people that will go to church next Sunday, honest Injun. These are a row of parochial school teenagers, virgins all but without a gag reflex between them.”

The sharpness of Ward’s voice and sense of humor bring a directness to this distinctly Catholic coming-of-age story, complete with the inevitable sin and subsequent guilt. Get the full story in our Fall/Winter 2014 issue.

nico

Photo Credit: Tom Francis
(http://photoarchive.merton.gov.uk/collections/tom-francis-collection/33181#prettyPhoto/0/)

Brimstone Bones

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The opening stanza of Seth Kowalski’s “Die in the Light” reads,

“Fire and Brimstone
Fills these cold bones
Burn up the marrow
Last ash of tomorrow
Rest in the shade, drown your sorrows
Autumn arrives, decay eagerly follows
All the flaws and faults, the ego so eagerly borrows
Cast into shadows, the conscience falls prey to hollows”

Through meticulously chosen words that form waves throughout his poem, Kowalski creates a rhythm that presents itself in opposites, constantly experiencing everything in both bright and dark lights. Get a feel for the rest of the poem in the upcoming issue.

sethpost
Photo Credit: Huldra Press
(http://huldrapress.blogspot.com/2014_04_01_archive.html)

Issue 1 Jacket

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While we might have to make some minor adjustments when we actually take the final product to press, this is our final jacket design for the first issue of the magazine.

Very excited to be supporting the work of the fine writers/humans on the back cover!

SobotkaJacketWithFrontSpineBack-page001

Burning Candles

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An excerpt from Kaitlin Penn’s “The Twelve Year Old Existentialist: A Birthday Story” reads,

“Falling asleep contented, belly full of a confectionary garden of birthday goodness, Vincent’s bed was covered with an open notebook, a small library’s worth of books, and an incapacitated Oskar. The day had been a mundane and comforting one. Reaching the top of his imaginary hill, Vincent began counting boulders before painlessly falling asleep to the thought: ‘Watch out. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and be fourteen, and fifteen after that.'”

Penn’s playful language and vivid characters manage to twist up cats, crushes and that creeping feeling of uncertainty that comes with getting older into a sweet little textual treat. Look out for the full story in Issue 1.

kaitlinpic
Photo Credit: Unknown
(https://momwomanhuman.wordpress.com/tag/birthday/)

A Little Warmth

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One of two poems submitted by Jessie Knoles titled “You are careful to water at the base of each plant,”

when i’m not there i want you
to water our garden because
the soil gets too dry.
i’m scared for our zucchini.
i want the seedlings to make it.
when we were digging, we saw baby worms.
i got scared and you told me we
needed them (i think i need you).
i’m a seedling, too.
transplant me to where
your feet hit the soil,
let our stems intertwine,
drink the same sunshine.
hope the rabbits don’t eat us.

“You are careful to water at the base of each plant” portrays the inner workings, attachments, and fears of a relationship through the metaphor of a garden. Jessie Knoles digs deep in this poem and her second piece, both which you can catch in our upcoming issue.

JessiePic

Photo Credit: Gabi Mulder
(http://gabriellemulder.wordpress.com/2012/11/13/the-secret-garden/)