Annie Guthrie

*

that stitching that light split.

no longer by ourselves.

silhouettes began to gather and stick.

they told me and showed me.

I was not afraid.  because it was all out of focus.

The porch became important to the home.

we placed our machine heads on watch.

for recording and capturing.

for flashes do not inhabit. it was all on automatic.

grass heads had hands, waving

like it was right before some riot.

but it was just knowing what to do in the dark,

between flashes.  we stood back.

it was what we always did.

Annie Guthrie is a writer and jeweler living in Tucson. She has work published or forthcoming in The Volta, Tarpaulin Sky, Fairy Tale Review, Ploughshares, H_NGM_N, Everyday Genius, Omniverse, EOAGH, Many Mountains Moving, The Destroyer, and more. She works and teaches at the University of Arizona Poetry Center.

Joshua Hussey

MYRTLE-ALLEY

1.

we map them understanding

that they were immense,

covered with fruits and flowers,

a single iris into an autoclave

2.

perhaps of its trees, their green platform,

of a grassy lawn; feel that there—

were immense, covered with shrill cries

perched, one after an other

3.

it was also the time of them,

from them was borne upon the same,

as in a balanced whole, of which

was borne upon the brows of women—

now were immense, covered all trace:

the idea of perfection

which was borne

upon the unwooded parts

4.

that it existed for some

was ever more that we were

scattered—

                        all manner of birds,

in places where the trees held,

continued, still embedded

among the splash of the rest||

                        the shrill and the shrike

5.

in those disquiets, in that other time,

the sky the shore of them again,

against as we crossed in a scattered sequence

without knowledge, directed it on our way

6.

stumbling to the dovecote,

the sky was grey;

they passed in a scattered

all trace

we map them with a wood,

that it existed for a world



Joshua Hussey is a doctoral student in English at the University of Georgia and is working on a long project on itineraries, the itinerant and Susan Howe. He has published work in Verse (review) and poetry in the Eugene, Oregon based Denali Literary Magazine. He lives in Athens, Georgia.

Shira Dentz [Part Two]

Shira Dentz is the author of a book of poems, black seeds on a white dish (Shearsman), nominated for the PEN/Osterweil Award 2011. She is also the author of a chapbook, Leaf Weather (Tilt Press), and another full-length collection, door of thin skins (CavanKerry Press), that is forthcoming. Her poems have appeared in many journals including T American Poetry Review, The Iowa Review, jubilat, and New American Writing, and featured online at The Academy of American Poets, NPR, Poetry Daily, and Verse Daily. She's currently Writer in Residence at The New College of Florida and is Book Review Editor at Drunken Boat.