Author: Heavy Feather

Poetry: “Swallowed Whole” by Christopher Latin

even my god/ can be colonized even my body/ is a preexisting condition but what/ of love/ do we have to be ashamed —from a version of “Crimson Ring,” a poem for Sasha Wall screaming is the best way to not be silent mouthful seizure of want night’s long teeth sweetheart …
Unbroken, an incredibly true WWII story by Laura Hillenbrand, reviewed by Samantha Seto

Laura Hillenbrand’s story is a narrative history that reflects the American experience during World War II and the cruelty of the Japanese. While the body counts mount in the middle east in countries like Afghanistan and Iraq in a military tally, the war is wrenching, tragic, and poignant as it quietly proceeds. Every day more…
“More Than This,” a poem by Tim Carrier

Yes, I liked it when we had abundance. Liked its love. Like we were sitting up on the roof rolling thin white cigarettes, with a pale tobacco, very light on the fine white paper. Ryan climbing up to the long flat roof with a bag of Fritos. Karen in her faux-hide boots, with shining gold…
Lessons in Camouflage, a poetry collection by Martin Ott, reviewed by Micah Zevin

Can we ever leave war behind and not remember its images, its roles, and deaths, or will it forever follow us? What goes missing and what will ever be recovered? When we exit the battlefield, there are other fights to be fought, whether of the mind or the body, or other seemingly mundane life tasks…
Poetry: Bryan D. Price’s “Station to station”

The ocean is wide but the road is onlyas long as an upturned truckswaddled in flames.To one another they refer tothemselves as pilgrims,though their devotion to the pastoral is conditional,like the words of a balladrevered more for the violence of the roomthan for the persistence of its intentions.These words are percussive.Voiced rhythmically.Not staccato like pistol…
“Rainbow Rock-Climbing Club,” a poem by Adèle Barclay

I’m a gecko on a wallthat simulates a cliffwith rainbow gripsI’ll touch any colourthat’ll have me touch itmidway is high enoughwary of emotional cliff-jumpingI don’t mean homesteadinglike that queer you overheardat Turk’s talking babiesafter only a monthI mean relentless breathlessnessand forgetting to hydratehaving met at an awkward sex partywe now call it a datebecause we…
The Lost Country, a posthumous novel by William Gay, reviewed by Michael A. Ferro

One cannot help but wonder what the world of southern gothic literature might be like had William Gay published earlier in life. Much like Faulkner, McCarthy, and O’Connor, Gay was a master of the bleak and the beautiful, able to break your heart in one sentence and cut it out and toss it on a…
“Terms of Non-Communication,” a ficton story by Ani Katz

I. Terms of Non-Communication 1. The parties agree not to attempt communication until the agreed-upon date. 2. In the event that either party believes to possess news that is critical to the other party, the newsholder shall seek a mutually trusted liaison to relay the news. 3. In the event that either party feels an…
Three Poems by M. Ann Hull

This Isn’t An Era for Adoring the unborn fingers of a tea cupgripping to its chipped brimbrittle stembones shedding petalslike a dry red rain. Thick, thicketedromances & tiny eyelid-lickingglances were for the timid & the timidhave all gone, leaving bridges scrubbingstarlight from their steel. I could tellmy unborn daughter there was a timewhen a hand…