How water moves past rock is what salmon read to get home. I consider this as I recall Mike, a 56-year-old quad in a wheelchair who could walk if he had been left until medics arrived, and Ross, a glass-eyed Korean War vet who taught me to troll on the Willamette River. Twenty years passed before I learned he fought at Porkchop Hill, and carried a man named […]
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Bekah Steimel | If I am that born poet
If I am that born poet you speak of then you delivered me with skilled and loving hands cutting me out of the womb of protected insecurity a witness to my unlikely birth result of my unlikely conception the child of flame and sky burning with gratitude flying with the freedom those skilled and loving hands granted me which is the most valuable gift that can ever be given to […]
Claudine Nash | Growing pains
In the hours after your birth I can’t shake the cold that passes through this recent hollow. I didn’t know that you had been warming my blood all this time, that I would know such a drastic drop in temperature without you even with you asleep on top of me that entire first night and having already lived decades without so much as a sheet. How am I so unaware […]
George Korolog | The delicate air
Belief was stuffed into the room like thick brittle cake, and all the breath stretched to gather at the concluding notes, the furthest point of a prolonged and tired echo. The air was swollen with the scent of sour porridge and we wallowed on tip toes, waded through the stories, reverently applying the delicate touch saved only for the dying, with the look, the downward stare of exhausted eyes […]
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