Arriving in New York for My Grandfather’s Funeral
Alison DoernbergWe have unlatched
a house where no one lives.
The walls, like spines
of library volumes, softened by time.
Back home, no salt lines ribbon across the toes
of my boots and I cannot untangle
where loss resides –
in the ache of the empty kitchen chair,
the calendar page unturned,
the tired linoleum.
My parents asleep in the snakeskin
of his bed, cocooned in vacancy,
the next in line.
The rafters sigh, but cannot mend. And soon
the blanket edges will hold the scent
of someone else’s skin.
Issue 10
Figurative vs. Literal
Fall 2009
Nonfiction
This Is a Woman
Gretchen Clark
Excerpt from Crocodile: Memoirs
From a Mexican Drug-Running Port
David Vann
Poetry
Five Scenes from Six and Renaldo
Linda Phillimore
After Sappho
Christina Hutchins
Remainders
Christina Hutchins
The Music Inside
Christina Hutchins
The Ear as Rifle
Tania Van Winkle
Arriving in New York for My Grandfather’s Funeral
Alison Doernberg
Honeysuckle
Alison Doernberg
The Crossing
Caroline Knapp
Notes on Summer
Michael Gross
Notes on Continuation
Michael Gross
Fiction
Spanking Without a Cause
Kevin Killian
Dust
Patty Somlo
You Are Here
Elizabeth Rosner
Brother and Sister
Grace Andreacchi
The Ugly Duckling
Charles Haddox
Art