Resurrection I’ll never be able to imagine the level of shattered hope my Christian mother experienced when her son died Friday, and then died again on Easter Sunday Joseph Edwin Haeger is the author of Learn to Swim (University of Hell Press, 2015). His writing has recently appeared or is forthcoming in The Inlander, […]
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Sing, Ladies I’ll tell you of a song on Apollo’s nightstand about the gutters of Paris and themes of magnolia vines, emptiness, statistics about tsunamis, churches, zine artists, twelve-year plans, the debutante meetings on Tuesday evenings, where pink is disallowed and cucumbers encouraged, arthritis, green mango skin, Gucci, God, lilypads, Chrysler’s year-end sales event, bonsai […]
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Yasica, Puerto Plata 1. When I lived in the mountains, I thought the same color meant the same taste. Tangerines, oranges and the sun. Citrus. When I saw my great-grandmother peel a tangerine with her bare hands while men used knives for oranges, she became God. I imagined what she could do with the sun. […]
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Ode to the Girls in VIP Exceptionally pretty and exceptionally bored, lacquered lips shut tight and straight, body not moving to the DJ’s pounding as you gaze dead-eyed down at us on the floor. I can’t help but wonder how many people you’ve fucked as I stare at you clutching your flute of $1000 champagne. […]
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Custard The revolution is people The state is people I am a person I feel extremely miniature and poorly moisturized I am looking for a cult to join A cult of women so I can wear my long white linen dress and sway in a circle The hot touch of a hand The heavy jaw […]
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Colma Walk We walked by the graveyard today Father’s Day And saw a group of five, sitting on the grass, On blankets, and wrapped, too, in blankets, this breezy Sunday. Each person sitting within three or four yards of the same tombstone We continued walking Father’s Day The five appeared, though we could not say […]
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delicate you brush with one tender finger under your earlobe the very spot just three evenings prior i watched in earnest a trembling sentry sat behind you in church the vulnerable flesh poised to meet the prospect of my lips and i could’ve just swept that spot gentler than a feather duster bumping everything on […]
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Telling the Bees I keep the hive you left as a makeshift ribcage, feed it the roots of my blanks. I open my palms— ———————scraps. The rest is stomped ash in my hands every grain smudged teeming into the next. A smattering gesture on an abacus. I am chronic reenactment, anthropologist, spooling into honeycomb the […]
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