Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
I.I feel the tickle on the pink of my lips before it touches my mouth. Anticipation is only possibility. Idon’t bite. The peach sits in the fridge, the skin too perfect to puncture, if it sits long enough it willrot, mold freckling the surface.II.I was married ten years before I told my husband I was bi. Told is perhaps too purposeful a word,dripped is more…
One evening, after dinner, Wazili shook his head. “The streets have become unpredictable lately,” he muttered. He finished wiping down his bicycle with a piece of cloth under the dim light of a bulb hanging from a wire attached to the roof pole. The shanty building had a single main switch, and tenants had to contribute to an electricity fee in addition to their rent…
Photo by David Clode on Unsplash
for Wendy 1973-2019 Photo by Sirisvisual on Unsplash
“Let my worship / be this work / and the force / of each bit / strike / on masonry”. And so, begins Joshua Robbins’ latest collection of poetry, Eschatology in Crayon Wax. With such intriguing titles as “Prayer with a Rotohammer and Stained Glass,” “Apologia Sharpied on Cardboard,” “If Paradise Has Cul-de-sacs,” and “Confession through Honeysuckle and Chain Link,” Robbins masterfully and seemingly effortlessly…