semaphoremagazine

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Two Poems -- Poetry by Nettie Farris

Two Poems — Poetry by Nettie Farris

This Is How You Will Find Me

  For some time, now, I’ve been inventorying the critters in your poems. The birds, especially, call out to me. This morning, the bird with half a wing is lodging itself in the lower left corner of my heart. Throughout the day, the others will compete for the lower right: bobcat, bear, possum, and raccoon. By sundown, the competition will be over. The foxes and I will…

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Carmen, La Calentadora — Short Fiction by Mariela Josefina Acosta Cozar de Coronado After days on horseback I arrived in Sevilla. It was evening, mid-August, and the streets were oppressive with heat.

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Lunar Tropic -- Poetry by Michael Paul Hogan

Lunar Tropic — Poetry by Michael Paul Hogan

Pieces from a fisherman’s notebook

  I

At six p.m. the street submits a false gradient, seems to tilt towards the bay, as though one coin has been taken from a pair of balanced scales and made into the moon

(an absolute circle of fine white gold, with the Presidente’s head smoothed almost entirely away except for one eye and a vestigal stern smile).

II

Tonight the moon is sharp as a…

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Departure -- Short Fiction by Elizabeth Mac Lean

Departure — Short Fiction by Elizabeth Mac Lean

“Take me to your leaderrrr,” I spoke into the whizzing fan. I imagined the neighbors peering over from their back deck with the potted plants and red umbrella, momentarily entertaining the idea that perhaps there really were aliens taking a tour of their cul-de-sac. “Blee-bloo-blap,” I sang loudly, my eyes squinted against the wind and my bangs pressed against my forehead. Sighing, I leaned back…

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A Poem by Bianca Coggiola

A Poem by Bianca Coggiola

i was chiming in with life i was mastering voodoo even i drank six glasses of water every day, as they say, and i waited for it to be too soon

i want a house by the bay some peace and quiet where i’ll drink six glasses a day or make it ten i’ll never be sad except when there is a full moon

perhaps you’d come visit me perhaps in may, we’d drink six gallons of rain, you’d say such a vast happiness,…

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The Flight -- Poetry by Steven Ratiner

The Flight — Poetry by Steven Ratiner

“The Flight from Atlanta to Little Rock

and below us, the land is a tight-seamed patchwork – how men work the earth, stake their claim.

Watching, I sketch new ideas in my notebook. Next time, I’ll make jade lakes dotting a bed quilt, mountain ranges in raw silk stair-stepped

in greens and blues and, beyond the peaks, a few pockets of wilderness in black brocade. Laying down every night will be my…

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Extreme Unction -- Fiction by C. J. Griego

Extreme Unction — Fiction by C. J. Griego

Leslie’s Granddad had been dead for four days. He was her first dead person. Officially, Mrs. Kennedy’s rabbit, Chalky, had been her first dead thing, and she remembered when the whole street had closed its front curtains as Joey Wynn had been carried out in his coffin; but these deaths didn’t count because they belonged to other people. This dead person was hers. At the wake, she approached his…

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The Crane Wife -- Poetry by Joshua Rupp

The Crane Wife — Poetry by Joshua Rupp

Once, a crane in Japan Folded into a woman To marry a net maker. We don’t know why. Perhaps she realized She could catch more Fish with a net than By herself. All we know About the net maker Is that he made nets.

On the train to Nova Scotia, a man and a woman in identical black jackets, Their hair cut in complementary Mohawks, were standing ahead of me Jostling between two countries as we sped…

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Howling at the Moon -- Poetry by Robert S. King

Howling at the Moon — Poetry by Robert S. King

  Neither as full nor as bright as the moon, like a dark cloud I shield my eyes from its face of scars. I glow but fear the spotlight whose x-ray beams expose me as hollow. I flee inside to bask in light I’ve paid for that paints my walls too thick for the howls of young wolves and leaders of the packs, too thick for ghosts or gods to pass through. In the uncaged world outside, the monk’s head…

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Evening -- Poetry by Keith Nunes

Evening — Poetry by Keith Nunes

Jasper and I are dumping religion on Talulah’s bed her dead serious Doc Maarten’s like leathered punks in their seventies

he and I scratch around playfully watching for signs of struggle but he’s a bichon that doesn’t bite and I’m a poetic Portuguese missing teeth

Talulah’s paintings claim the walls left by giant spreading windows, her presence is felt on tips of nerves, she’s the ingredient that…

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Ugly -- Fiction by Michael Seward

Ugly — Fiction by Michael Seward

“You’re an ugly boy.” His voice is thick and soft with liquor and lust, and his finger reaches across the table to touch my face. “But I like your chin—the way it’s not really there. Kinda just rolls from lip to neck.”

Rashid—he told me: Never flinch. Even when it hurts.

Over at the bar Eduardo glances at me and this guy in our booth; Eduardo arches an eyebrow at me, shrugs and wipes the counter…

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Right of Asylum -- Poetry by Tom Sheehan

Right of Asylum — Poetry by Tom Sheehan

I tuck you in, wooled,

The last stray sardine

Into Norwegian tinning,

Housed and harbored

  For one more night.

Your eyelashes never

Longer than this hour,

Or cheeks so berried.

  The global streetlight,

Less dazzle than gleam,

Warm as a cup of honey,

Pales ingots on your face

  And struggles for corners.

It fall short of hockey

Gloves at one more drying out,

a mitt tired of winter

  and the…

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In a Dark Place -- Fiction by James Moran

In a Dark Place — Fiction by James Moran

For the past hour Gordon had been staring at the dark woods ahead as though he were watching reruns on TV. The trees sloped down and up towards the Alleghenies, all beneath a starless, night sky. He had half a mind to see the mountains closer up, to sprint headlong into the dark with nothing but the peak of those mountains in sight. He imagined running along the empty road, reaching the nearest…

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Vietnam. Fucking Vietnam -- Short Fiction by William Trent Pancoast

Vietnam. Fucking Vietnam — Short Fiction by William Trent Pancoast

The darkness started on my lunch break at the fender factory. I went out by myself that day, late in February 1980 with snow on the ground, yet with full sunshine, the sort of day that promises something but you know it can’t and won’t deliver anything. I drove to the local beer dock where I bought the usual six pack then sat in the parking lot with the truck windows down, a cold breeze filtering…

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Monster -- Short Fiction by J. Eric Miller

Monster — Short Fiction by J. Eric Miller

Come kitty, come, you call. But your cat is gone. And your grandmother is dead in New York, and your journey there and back has worn you thin. So you slump in the dark on the stoop beneath the stairway into your apartment and you call for the cat.

And your little boy is in Michigan, with his father. He’s been there for three weeks. He’ll be there another week yet. And when he gets back, he’ll be…

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Why Not You? -- Fiction by Gregg Sapp

Why Not You? — Fiction by Gregg Sapp

If she heard that suave, cheery voice just one more time, La’Wandja worried that she might go back to smoking crack just to block it out. He spoke with the honeyed articulation of false promises. She could not resist, though; he drew her in, making her want to believe. She looked up, and there he was, making direct, blue-eyed contact with her soul through the television, as real to her as if he…

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Americana -- Poetry by Dr. Ernest Williamson III

Americana — Poetry by Dr. Ernest Williamson III

Forty-nine pounds, lank and free. nine years old a sort of stick-man yet still a boy, with reddish eyes dark thick brown hair stubble artificial but there and found even beneath the arms.

Summer was a stolid beauty of a scene but Spring danced with subtle jest as red jasmine breezes molested the sky. a breed of smog and peace emerged. but nine isn’t a memory, it’s my lucky number. nine fingers. ni…