Jaccueline De Jong
War 1914 - 1918, detail, 2013
Courtesy of the artist and Chateau Shatto, Los Angeles
A River in Egypt, a poem by Chase Twichell
Denial is not a river in Egypt
says my t-shirt, once Dad’s.
But it is, with its crocodiles and palms,
and all the answers flying this way,
little vanilla egrets low over the water. . .
The Christian Girl, a story by Edie Meidav
That morning, I had not exactly been spying on the
Christian girl taking her bath outside in the strange area
my father had rigged up for her, because though it had
been permissible for him to get by the women of the
house the idea of this young girl . . .
Yesterday, I passed a line of trees that edge the
campus where I walk. A yellow maple and red maple
stood side by side, their leaves a stunning carpet of
yellow and red around their respective trunks. . . .
Oranges, a story by David Zellnik
Nine years after my mother died, I saw her in Berlin.
She was Turkish this time, religious too from the look
of it so there was a headscarf. Her skin was slightly
darker but it was her, no doubt. . .
Godsblood, a poem by Matthew Westbrook
Sumptuous, yes. And inviting:
the junction of bone and bread.
How I rise to this task
before I, too, am smote, smitten
with love of living, here in the middle
of the kitchen. . . .
Anna's House, a story by Mhani Alaoui
Beithe was a loud city. It had the loudness of a city not
yet used to itself. Steel clicked against steel and stone
echoed stone. There was no respite from its noise. . . .
The tide is poised. Between you and I the end of the world
where an abandoned crane will either spit blue
blazing desert from its graffiti lips or smash
the crow-bedecked tenements in search of a trumpet. . .