go places: sea creatures

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  • :

    GoPlaces:SeaCreatures

    July:Issue5

  • ContributorsJesseCataldo http://www.jessecataldo.com/ RachaelEasterly EmilyHiggins EileenHillery http://www.eileenhillery.com/ EmilyHockaday [email protected] GordonHolden http://www.gordonholden.com/ MeganHummel TiffanyNavarro http://www.tnavarro.blogspot.com/ AmelaParcic JackieSherbow TerinTalarico MonicaWendel CoverDesignbySimoPeretti WaltzinJennybyThemDamnHamiltons

    ThemDamnHamiltonswriteandperformoriginaldarkNewEnglandfolkwithatouchofgypsyswaggerandseachanteystomp.www.themdamnhamiltons.com

    CreatedandCuratedbyHannahRaineBrennerLeonard

  • DearFriends,

    WhaleMystic,collage,2011

    Thankyoutoallthecontributorsformakingitgreat!Hopeyoulovethisone.

    Truly, Hannah

  • SeaBurialJackieSherbow

    listofbeachlife,LongIslandSound,9/11/2000snail,shell,weeds,ladybugs(note:check),oneblackarrowhead,smallwhitecrabs.Oceanside,CA,7/4/2009AMarinedrownedinthemiddleofthedayjustdownthebeachmightaswellhavebeennexttome:thewaywaterflows.Requirementsforburialatsea:musttakeplacethreenauticalmilesfromlandandinwateratleastsixhundredfeetdeep.Certainareasrequiredeeperwater.Allnecessarymeasuresshallbetakentoensurethattheremainssinktothebottomrapidlyandpermanently.listofsealifefromdream,2012areunionofoldfriendstiedupinoceandwellingplants:theMarinefromIndependenceDayweekend,redtide,myAuntM.sashes,silverknottedflyfishingties,skippingrocks,thegirlmymotherdoveintoretrievefromthepoolsdeepend,MaisieafterjumpingoverthefencetothebrokenglassshoreoftheEastRiver,theviewofLowerManhattanfromthewater,mytoesskimmingthetipsofeveryone'sfloatinghair.

  • Mom'sBathroom, Northglenn,Colorado,January2010TerinTalarico

  • ByNightWithTorchAndSpearJesseCataldo

    Theyspenttheirdaysonthebeachandatnighttheyargued.Quietarguments,oneswithroundededges,whereshewouldbreakaglassinthesinkandhewouldmurmurunderhisbreath:forGod'ssakehowmanytimes?Shewasn'tworkinganymoreandhewaspaintingthethingshewanted,deadcantedtreesandemptybeds,theirsheetsgrayandunwashedandsinister.Thingsthatmadethemeninthelittlegalleriesonthehilltilttheframesslightlytotheirsides,bemusedlooksappearingontheirfaces.Hewasn'tworried.Theydidn'tneedthemoney.Summerendedandtheystayedthere,intheshorehousewiththreerooms,onthebeacheachdayinsweatshirtsandlongpants.Thetouristswenthome,ofcourse,andtheicecreammanlefthistruckbehind,parkedonasandycornerneartheboardwalk.Beforethishehadimaginedthattherewassomeonetotidyupwhentheseasonwasover,acleaningmanwithacartorapickuptruck,scouringthebeachfortrashanddebris.Buttherewasnosuchperson.Thecellophanewrappersandplasticbagssunktheirwaydownintothesandorblewoutintothesea.Thewaveswereglassyandcalmandtherewasseaweedeveryday.Bynowthewaterwascoldenoughthatitdidn'tmatter.Theysayitsfulloftinymaggots,theseaweed,Heathersaidasifitwasntbadenough.

    Hemadeadisgustedface.Itwasanothercoldday.Likealwaystheyhadwokenatdifferenttimes,eatendifferentbreakfasts,takentheirmorningwalksalone.Butbynoontheywouldbeonthebeachagain,reading,orsketching,orjustlookingoutatthewater.

    Cleanermaggotsthough,hesaid,atleastrelatively.BecauseofthesaltImean.Peoplewerestillthereintown,somewhere.Theywouldrunintostrangersinthecornerstore

    andsayhello,forcedintofriendlinessbythenewfoundemptinessoftheplace.Butthebeachwasempty.Therewasoneperson,anoldwoman,whohadsetupacardtablenearthestepsdownfromtheboardwalk.Shesoldseashells,unironically,readingromancenovelswithsurprisinglytastefulcovers.SheworeaNavajochief'sblanketaroundhershoulders,aheavythingwithamaroonandgoldpattern.Thismustbeoneofthosepeople,hethought,theonesHeathersfatherhadspokenabout,theweirdoswhoclungtothetownallyearround,throughcoldweatherandwarm,likedeadantsonoldPopsiclesticks.Thiswomanmaywellhavebeenthereduringthesummer,sittingoutamongthefruitsellersandthecaricaturists,withtheirsampledrawingsofoutdatedcelebrities.Ifshewastheyhadnotnoticed.Nowtheysawhereveryday,hershellslaidoutmessilyonthetable,asiftheyhadwashedupthere.Theywerenotthesamekindofshellsyouwouldfindonthebeach.Theylookedforeign,withviolentpatterns,streakedsunsetaccumulationsofpurple,orangeandred.Thewomanlearnedbothoftheirnamesandtalkedtothemwhentheypassed,aboutthesoundthewavesmadeonthejettyandtheislandjustoffthecoast,whichtheycouldseebuthadnevervisited.

    Itsthekindofplacewhereyouseeflowerseverywhere.Inthebackseatsofabandonedcars.Justgrowing.Yearafteryearandthepetalspileuponthefloor.Fallingdowncottagesallcoveredinivy.Thewomankeptherhairtiedstifflybackandwhenshespokeherhandsfluttered,asinthemotionofsomecomplicateddance.Whenyouseeahouselikethat,ahousewithrootstearingupthecellar,thingslivingintherafters,deadleavesuptoyourkneesintheoldkitchen,youfeelsomethingrighthere.Shetouchedherchest.Andthedogs.Thereareoldstraysthathavegonewildandatnightyoucanhearthemcryingbythewaves.Atnightthelightsonthenearsideoftheduneswentdarkfirst,thenthoseupabove,inthesmallerbungalowswhereoldcoupleshadsettleddownforgood,leavingonlytowatchthewavesandpickup

  • groceries.Therewerestillboatsoutinthewater,andfromtimetotimeonewouldpassclosetotheshore,theglintofitslightsreflectinginthewindow.Sometimestheywouldgobyquickly;othertimestheymightsitoutthereforhours,faroff,likesomethingpaintedonthesky.Whenhesawonehewouldwalkovertothewindow,pickinguptheashtrayinonehandandstandingthere,theasheswanderingoverthelipofthetray,hisfacesmushedupagainsttheglass.

    Shepaintsthoseshells,Heathersaidlater.TheywereplayingScrabbleandhewassurprisedtofind,hourslater,thattheoldwomanwasstillonhermind.Hehadjustspelledtheword'fuzz'butnowregrettedit,howoutofplaceitlooked,theuglyblockageitputontheboard.

    They'reconvincing,sure,butIknowforafactshepaintsthem,Heathercontinued.Hewonderednowifthewomanwasstilloutthere,ifshespentallnightundertheboardwalk,

    sleepingwrappedupinthatblanket.Thisseemedpossible.HeknewwhyshebotheredHeather,whofearedthingsthatmadeherfeelstupidorunbalanced.Thewomanlikelydidthis,throughthecarefulwayshespoke,poppingoutsyllableslikesoapbubbles,inthearch,measuredtoneofaBaedeker's.

    Whydoesitmatterwhattheyare?heasked.Itdoesn'tmatter.That'swhyitmatters.Whosellsshells?Andoffseason?Whatdoesshe

    thinkthisis?Thiswashowtheargumentsstarted.Shewouldpushhimtodefendasidehehadwouldnot

    normallyhavetaken.Fromherehewouldstruggletogetback,toescapethetopicandthesidehedbeenassigned.Indoingthishewouldenduptakingontheargument.Thiswashowhefoundhimselfdefendingnucleararms,dogshows,ChiquitaBanana,theoldracistwhoownedthetshirtshop.Eventuallyhewouldrealizethathewastrapped.Then,slowly,thefightwouldwinddown.Theywouldgotosleepandinthemorningwhenhewokeupshewouldalreadybegone,ashallowdentinthesheetswhereshehadslept.Usuallyhewouldlosethearguments,becausehisheartwasnotinthedefense.Heatherwasatenaciousandwilydebater.Therealityofhislosswouldlingerwithhimandtosavefacehe'dbeforcedtostartanotherfightlater,pickingatherforsomethingpointless,thewayshecoughedorhowshelefttheforkshalfwashed,inthedishdrainerdottedwithgritandcrust.

    Didyouwashtheseinthesand?hemightask,quizzically.TherewouldbesilencefromthecouchwhereshesatwiththelightoffandtheTVvolumeonlow.Heknewthesekindsofcommentshurther.Shehadnopatiencefordishesanditwasalwaysdarkinthekitchen.Ifshedidapoorjobitwasonlypartiallyherfault.Soshewouldsaynothing,walkintothebedroomandclosethedoor.Or,ifthingsthatdayhadbeenmoreamicable,shemightwhine:

    MorganforGodssake.YouknowI'mnotgoodwiththesethings.Iknowthat.Ido,hewouldanswer.Sowhybringitup?Whynot,hewouldask,justcleantheforks?

    Itwasavacationhouse.Thismeantitwasfilledwiththings,allthecastoffdriftwoodofherprivilegedchildhood:frayedstuffedanimals,ovenmitts,booksthathadbeentrappedbetweenbedsandwallsforfifteenyears.Therewasa1987calendarinthekitchen,asmallyellowboxwithallthemonthsononepage,highupabovethecabinetswherenoonehadbotheredtotakeitdown.Hethoughtoftenaboutherandthehouse,thetimesthathadbeensharedbeforehegotthere,whatwouldhappenaftertheyhadgone,thethingstheplacemeanttoherthathewouldneverunderstand.Therehadbeenweekendsherewhenshewasthegrinningfiveyearoldhesawinpictures,whenshehadwokenupearlyinthemorningsanddoveintoherparentsbed,squirmingherwayunderneaththecovers.Nowitwastheirbed,withdarkstainsonthecoverletfromlyingonitwiththeirshoeson.Tohimitwasnothingmorethanadrearyplace,onethatseemedbarelyaliveevenwhenitwaswarm.Therewasastinkofdeadwoodandagriminess,anancientmusttothewalls,thatwouldhavenotcomeouteveniftheydtriedtoremoveit.Hecouldnotgetpastthis,couldnotforma

  • sentimentalbondwiththissadlittleplacethatwasnotreallyahomeorevenahouse.Thereseemednoreasontotry.ByOctoberitwasfullofdrafts,alwayscold,thereflectedcharmofsummercompletelystrippedaway.Itscreakingwoketheminthenight. Thewaterlookslikestewnow,hesaid,Inthesummerithasthatnicelightness,butnowitslikeredmiso.Theseaweeddoesnthelpthings.

    Iguesssheanswered.Idon'tknow,hesaid.It'snotthemostbeautifulthingintheworld,sheagreed.

    Theirchairswerefacingoneanotherforsomereason.Herslookingoutandhisfaceuptowardthehillandtheboardwalkandthetownbehindit.Helookedatthelinesonherfaceunderthesunhatshestillstubbornlywore.Sherepeatedsomethingtohimthatherfatheralwayssaid,aboutneverturningyourbackontheocean.Fromthebeginninghehadthoughtofthehouseassomethingherparentsbought,aweddingpresentfromtheirparentsorapurchasesharedamongsiblings.Whenhefoundoutotherwise,thatithadbeeninthefamilysince1923,thatseveralpeoplehadhoneymoonedthere,thatoneofhergrandfather'scousinshadchokedtodeathonanappleintheverysamekitchenheatehisFrostedFlakes,hefeltspooked.Thisoldnessgrantedaconfusingvacuitytothethingshere,robbingthemoftheircontextandplaceandloosingthemtoagelesslimbo.Thethingslyinginthehallandbedroomclosets,theshuttlecocksandloosestripsofnetting,thelawnmowerparts(althoughtherewasnolawn),spadesandtrowels,darkgreentennisballs,hats,boots,bundledlengthsoftwineandstring,boxesofhandwrittenrecipes,ClueandTrivialPursuitinoutdatedboxes,withmildeweatenboardsthatlookedlikethefloorsofneglectedmansions.Wheredidthesethingscomefrom?Whenhadtheybeenlefthere?TherewastheyellowraftthatherbrothershadtakenoutontheAtlanticwithoutpermission,rowingagainstthetide,sofarthattheydisappearedbeyondthehorizon.Whentheycameback,trudgingupthebeachwiththeboatheldovertheirheads,herfatherwentafterthemwithhisbeltandlater,aftertheydbeensuitablypunished,goredtheraftwithasteakknife.Thiswasoneofthestoriesheknew.Shetolditblankly,sothathewasntsureifitwasmeanttobefunnyorsad.Buttheraftwasstillthere,foldedupitspackaging,brownanddesiccatedlikeanoldcucumber.

    Itwasnotallfighting,thoughitsometimesseemedlikeit,andhehopedthatlookingbackonedaytheywouldnotrememberthearguments.Therewerenicetimes,evenwhenitwascoldandthewindhowled,whentheywouldfindthemselvessittingIndianstyleonthekitchenfloor,feelingtheoldstormfeeling,theoneyoucouldreallyonlyfeelonvacation.Orinthehallways,theirlegsstretchedoutacrosseachothers.Theywoulddrinkhotthingsfrommugsandeattheoldcrackerstheyfoundwastingawayinthepantry.1991,shejoked,beautifulvintage.FantasticyearforSaltines.Thepinesmellofthewallscameoutwhenitrainedandsometimesthesmellofawoodstovewouldappearoutofnowhere,waftingupthebeachmaybe,slinkingintothebedroomwheretheylaydrapedoverthebed.Itwasduringoneofthesetimesthatshetoldhimaboutthewhale.Itwasrareforhertospeakabouthermemoriesofthisplace,andthethingsshedidtellwerenotimportant,wherethekeyringusedtohangandthewaythebikeswouldtipovereverynightfromthewind.Howherfatherwouldleanthemupagainstthewallasevenlyashecouldbuteachmorningtheywouldcomeoutsideandtheretheydbe,tippedoverinthesand.Butthisstorywasdifferent.

    Wemusthavebeeneightornine,shebegan,wellIwaseightornine.Clintwastenorelevenormaybeeventwelve.Wecamebackfromsomewhereinthecaranditwaslyingthereonthebeach,dead.Justthemouthandtheheadorwhateverandtherestofitwasinthewater.Butthatmouth.Jesus.Therewasthishorriblecrustofbarnacles,blackalgaelookingstuffaroundtheeyesandmouthandIllneverforget,forsomethingtohaveeyeslikethat,likebiggerthanyoucouldimagine.

  • Clintranoverandtriedtotouchitandmydadcameandscoopedhimup.Whichwasgood,hewouldhavecrawledinside,thewayhewas.

    Shelaughedandwentontalking,abouttheeyes,whicheventuallyslidshutontheirown,andtheslackmouth,aswideasagaragedoor.Aftershetoldthisstorytheywentbackoutonthebeachandwalked,upalongthehighdunespasttheoldwoodenshops,closedfortheseason,whereonelonelyhousesatatthetopoftheridge.Thishousealwayslookeddarkfromtheirwindow.Butcloseuptheycouldseethefrailbluelightinsideasatelevisionreflectedagainstthebaywindow.Theydidnotholdhands.Thiswasnotthatkindofsituation,wherethestoryremindedhimofwhyhelovedherinthefirstplace,openeduntappeddepthsofaffectionandbrokethroughthecrustedloamofmisunderstanding.Nothinglikethathappened.Partofhimwasstillannoyed,tobehonest,thatshehadeatenthelastthreeeggsthatmorning.Theywalkedsomewhatapartandsometimeshishandwoulddartcloser,brushingthehairoffhershoulder.Outofhabitmaybe,butwiththehandclingingtothelastfibersofhairandswooshingthembackingbehindherearwhereheknewtheywouldcatch.Theoceanwashideousandblack,swollen,proudofthebilliondeadthingsrottinginside.Itsselfish,shesaid,ButIwouldlovetoseeithappenagain.Thewhale,tremendous,dead,lyingthereontheshore.Whatareyoudoingoutthere,hismotheraskedonthephone,andwhereisthereexactly?Whatcanyoupossiblybeeatingeveryday?

    Nothing,hesaid,whichwasnottrue.Hewaspaintingeveryday,evenwhenhedidntfeellikeit,thingshewasnotsurehelikedbecausehedidnotlookatthemoncetheyweredone.Therewasnotmuchelsetodo.Thelibraryintownwassmallandtheyhadnotelevision.Sothepaintingsfilledthehouse.Leaningfacedown,firstagainstthebackofthecouchandthenagainstthebacksofotherpaintings.

    Wellbebackwhenwereback,hesaidintothephone.WhenhewasoutorinbedHeatherwouldturnthepaintingsoverandexaminethem.There

    wassomethingmenacinghere,shefelt.Thepaletteandchunkybrushstrokesindicatedfrustration,blackmoods,depressioneven,amorbidintimacywithshadowsandfog.Onepaintingwasofthebeach,coveredindeadjellyfish.Anothershowedthedarkwaterchurninglikesewage,anoldrowboatlistingnearadock,threedustypelicansperchedonabuoy.Shepickedattheirframelessedgeslikeaboxofrecords,runningherfingerovercertainparts,lettingthemfallbackagainstoneanother.

    Whatareyoutryingtosaywiththesepaintings?sheasked,onemorning,whentheyfoundthemselvesbothdrinkingespressoatthecafdownthestreet.Hethoughtaboutthisforamoment.Hisfingerspulledfromhissleeveanddrummedagainstthetable.Ithink,heanswered,thatIlikedthisplacebetterwhenitwaswarm.OnedayjustbeforeHalloweentheywalkedupthecoasttowardthejetty,furtherthantheydbeenbefore,pastthegraymossyhouseswhereoldfriendsofherparentsstilllived.Hehadstoppedshavingandhisbeardhadgrownoutunevenly,patchyinsomeplaces,scragglyinothers.Hecuppedhishandsandblewonthem.

    Therewasaplacehereshehadnotseeninyears.Fardownthebeach,pastwherethecliffwallspressedtightagainstthesea,wherethewaterwasfullofbouldersandsharkeggschokedthesandinthespring.Sheknewitastheboathouse,althoughitdidnotholdboatsanddidnotlookasitevercouldhave.Itwasasmallshackonthewater,connectedbyashortpier,halfcollapsed,withsnappedclamshellsscatteredacrossthefloor.Shetoldhimthatasachildithadscaredherterribly,howherbrotherswouldforceherinside,barthedoorandpretendtoleave.Lookingatitnowshefelt

  • nothingatall,watchingthewaterlapagainsttheopenfrontoftheshack,thegapsinthewallscreakingasthetideslowlywrenchedthemfromtheirmoorings.

    Whatahorribleplace,hesaid. Itusedtobeevenworse.Orseemedlikeit.MaybeImjustbeingnostalgicShewatchedthenarrowstarehegavethestructure,hishandrubbingoverhismouth.Shewonderedifhewouldpaintthis,andwhatitwouldlooklikeifhedid.

    TheysatinthesandnearbyforafewminutesandthenwalkedbackItsverycold,hesaid.Itis,sheanswered.Comingoffthebeachtheyranintothewoman,whohadlefthertableandwaswalking

    barefootinthesand.Shetalkedagainabouttheisland,pickingup,itseemed,whereshehadleftoffthelasttimetheyhadspoke.

    Therewerethingsthere,shesaid,atownhall,abeautifulpetshop,andeverysummerthere'dbefireworks.Iwasagirlhere,yearsago,andonthe4thwewouldcomeouttothebeachandlaydownonablanket,eatfriedclamsfromtheshackdownontheothersideofthebeach.Itsgonenow.Butthefireworkswentupthere,outalongtherocks,andfromwhattheysaidtheislandthemostbeautifulhouses.Mansardroofs,widows'walks,themostgloriousgardensyoudeversee.

    Goodnight,Heathersaid,whilethewomanwasstillspeaking.Theywalkedbacktothehouse.Thatnighttheymadefishsticksandatethematthetableoutside,intheirjackets,thewindwhippingherhairupintoherface.WhenthefightstarteditwasaboutClarkGable.WhetheritwashimorErrolFlynnintheoldTechnicolorversionofRobinHood.Itwaslessaseriousargumentthanajokingdebateandthemoviewasrightthere,inanoldVHScopy,leaningagainstafewothersonthelivingroomshelf.Theywerelaughingastheywentbackandforth.Shegrabbedhisshouldersandshookthemvigorously.Butoncetheystartedtheycouldnotstop.TheGablediscussiondevelopedintosomethingtangentiallyrelated,thirdworldpiracy,orhisfather,andthenbecameaboutwaterpollutionandfinallytheideathattheleakofthekitchensinkwasfixable.Theywerenolongerlaughingandherheadwaspressedagainstherhand.Itwasnotsomethingthatcouldberepaired,hemaintained.Itwas,shewassure.Buthadshetriedtofixit?Hadhe?Shethoughttheleakcouldbefixedbecauseshethoughteverythingcouldbefixed,justlikethat,hewasconvinced;sheknew,assuredly,thathewasprojecting,hishateforthishouseandallthethingsthatlivedwithinit.Standinguptorefillhisglassheknockedovertheflag,whichhadsatfoldedontheendtablesinceshedtakenitdownonthe4th.Therewasacodifiedprocedureforthefolding,buthedidnotknowexactlywhatthatwas.Itwasherresponsibility,butwhenhehelditoutsheshookherheadfiercely.Doityourselfsinceyouknoweverythingsheshouted.Hethrewitdownonthecouchinaball.Itwentonlikethis.Theygotintobed,stillarguing,andlaywhisperingwithaspacebetweenthem,backtoback,pitcheddistantlytoeithersideofthebed.

    Ifyoumadeaneffort,shesaid,youdseeitwasntreallysuchabigdeal.Effortisatwowaystreet.IdontseewhyImbeinglecturedonselfimprovementwhenyou

    sitaroundherealldayonyourass,likeyourethequeenofeverything.Herresponsewasthoughtfulandmeasured.Shewasstilltalkingwhenhefellasleep.Whenhewokeitwasstilldarkbutshewasnotthere.Thesunwasalmostcomingup.Hecouldseethefirstglintsofitoutatsea,theedgesofthehorizonbeginningtolighten.Onthebeachtherewere

  • seagulls,dozensofthem,wheelingandcryingandcollidingwithoneanother.Hepulledonhispantsandwenttothewindow.Shewasoutthere,onthebeach,standingoversomething.Againhethought,cursingherpetulantrevengetactics,thisdistantmorningritualshecarriedouttopunishhim,thesymbolismofthesebeachwalksandthecoffeeshesometimesmade,thepotleftpurposelyonthecountersoitwouldgrowcold.Butthistimetherewassomethinginfrontofher.Somethingheavy,andlong,bigenoughthatthewavesdidnotmoveitanditsattherelikearock,thewaterrushingoverit.Shewasleaningtowardthethingandhecouldseepartofitmoving,afinorflapoffleshbeingtuggedbythetide.Itwasadolphin,hedecided,orahugefish,thewayitsbackendtaperedoffandcametoapoint,asifthebackfinhadbeensnippedofforeatenbyscavengers.Therewassomethingshockinginthispristine,lifelesspilelyingontheshore.Buthewasmoreworriedabouther,boththequietgriefshewouldincurfromthisdeadcreatureandtheterriblediseasesshemightpickup.Whenhegotoutsideshewassquattingovertheshape,thebackofherjackettrailinginthesand.Hewalkedtowardthewater,sayinghername,lookingforsomedefinitesign:abentdorsalfin,scales,ablowholedammedupwithmud.Butitwasnotadolphin,orafish.Theproportionswereallwrong.Hesawthisnow,comingupbehind,wheresheheldherhandsovertheblobasifwarmingthemnearafire.Shewhirledtowardhim,losingherbalanceandfallingforwardononeknee.Itsadog,shesaid.Anditwas:huge,halfrotted,itscoatsmearedananonymousshadeofgray.

  • LightCreaturesTiffanyNavarro

  • OtherIslandsMonicaWendelHereweare,inthegreatvalleyofpeoplebetweenthesigns,andthepolice,andthefences.Bringmewater:Iwouldlikethatrightnow.AndthenightonthefieldwiththegrassandtheeelsandtheplanesrisingaboveusfromJFKadozenmileseastnoonefromthatnightishere.ItfeelslikeIamtheonlyoneseeingwhatIseeandatnightIdreamoftheapocalypse,Iamwatchingtheoceanfromaboveandthetsunamiexpandslikeajellyfishsoperhapsinthedreamitactuallywasajellyfish,bluewithwhiteedgesofwaves.Thedreammecheckshercellphoneunderwater,sendsonelasttext.Inthegreatmassofpeople,andthenlater,walkingdownBroadwaywithpolicevansstretchedforaquartermile,Ifeelveryalone;Ifeelasthoughnooneiswatching:YetthenewstickerlightsupagainandagaintosaywhereIamanditisasthoughIamwalkingonthebackofawhale,curvedslightly,likeaparenthesis,andwhatIthoughtwasanislandindeedwasalive.

  • GordonHolden

  • AmelaParcic

  • RachelEasterlyjellyfish,youstinglikerainyourbodyflailshookandsinker,runandhunker,milkneedlesdon'tfeedher,nothingappeaseherjellyfish,theywashyouuptodry,feedyoubeercansonyourfirsttry.it'sasunriseyoufloatthrough,theyfollowliketheyneedyoubuttheywon'tsayjellyfish,thewateriswideforahope,forafever,forasunriseyoufloatthrough,nosinglebelievertheypourouttheirhearts,denouncethecontainer,andipickthemoveryou,everyday

    EmilyHiggins

  • EileenHillery

  • CrabbingEmilyHockadayIlostthefirstfewpullingtooquicklyornotquickenough.Youreachedforthestringovermyshouldertryingtomanbothstringandnetatonce.Wewereleftwithemptylinestheragsoffleshlessandlessattachedtothebone.Ihadhelpedyousecurethatstringaroundtherawchicken,fatpuckeringupovertheknotsbeforedroppingitdownintothedarkwater.WhenIfirstaskedyoutotakemecrabbing,youtookitasajoke,maybe,saidtheseasonstartsinAugust,atdark,sodaylitMaywasimproper.Itookyourinformationrolleditbetweenmyfingerstofeelaroundforpiecesofyourchildhoodamongsttheknowledge

  • youdgainedlivingontheshoreofanisland.Youwereright.Togocrabbingwhentherearentanycrabs,itdoesntmakesense.Iwantedtoseeonecrab.ItswhatIsaidatdinnerthatnightchickenlegsoverthestiffplastictableclothsaturatedinuglyfloralprint,Alzheimers,yourfamilialghosts.Ipromisedyourmotherapoemsohereitis:thedockjutoutintoabaywhichIcalledtheoceanbecausereallyifAtouchesBtouchesCitsmelledliketheocean.Thesaltstucktomylipsandpores,thespraymisleadinglygentle,andIcrossedthedockinthedeliberateandexploratorywayachildpicksapartveinsinanoakleafbyrippingoutthepaperyandmeatyinsides.

  • Theslatsofwood,crustedwithsalt,speckledandstainedwithwormcarcasses,birdexcrementandburnsledoutintothewaterlikealongtongue.Postsandhookswithgrimybitsofstringstickingup.Theequipmentmadeitanexpedition.You,shakingthespidersofftheplasticbucket,netheldlikealacrossestick,wereincommand.Thecrabscameearlythatyear,wouldprobablycomeagain,too,asecondwave.Itwasabnormal(thoughtobeexpected).YouandIhaveprecarioustiming.Wethreweachcrabback;allruntsbutthesamepregnantfemale,sohungry,againandagain.

  • MeganHummell