What Belongs to Us
courage is money
mined from the heart
i had my beautiful crowbar
swinging like daisies
turning mailboxes into confetti
my crowbar sang in perfect key
caressed every note
and every windshield broke into applause
By Juan Camillo Garza
The music folded in on itself; the percussion distended; hi-hats bled
into low-frequency morass, then, propelled by my unsteady hand,
transformed into taut clicks; a keyboard liquified, as if the tone was
the surface of a puddle that my hand could shape into a ripple, then
a swell, then a smooth plane. This mysterious force
called hip-hop was now an obsession.
From "Approximation of Urban Heat, Vol. 4"
by Kyle Cochrun
A whale might make a playground; all she needed was that first cut.
In the evenings couples could carve their initials into her flesh,
sever a heart around them, sit atop her quivering ribs which might
someday be used for swings and monkey bars—a second home to children.
They could huddle together and point out constellations they didn’t
really know the names of, braid long strands of blonde baleen,
wave her flipper up and down for a slow evening breeze. They wanted
to put their legs through her long tail, fan their feet out
through her fluke, make themselves aquatic.
From "A Bloated Blue Whale Washes
Up on Unsuspecting Townspeople" by Lisa Favicchia
Cover art: "Moments Explicable Only By Color" by Jury S. Judge