Category: The Last Word

Poetry by Lisa Zerkle: “I’m Stopped by the Black Pearl of Her”

An elegant weapon, she’s glossy,ballistic. Her legs, articulated.But it’s the shine I notice. Light glintsoff carapace though she’s tangled ina sticky mess, a catchall of deadleaves and insects I take for cobwebnear a potted shrub. The hydrangeathat has bloomed and faded though the daysstill blaze and rattlesnaking of cicadasrises from the oaks. Her abdomen’sa precise…
New Travel Nonfiction: “To the Burmese Monks Who Asked Why My Hair Was Cut Short” by Lindsey Danis

You were not the first monks I met in Thailand, but you were the only ones I bowed to with both hands pressed together at the chin to demonstrate respect. You were two together and we were together, two married women passing for straight, but you wondered about that in the way you eyed my…
New Hybrid Cento: “I Rewatch My Ex’s Favorite Film and Imagine Our Life Together” by Frances Klein

E—A cento of the Derek Jarman film Blue Once there are only two of us you set to work mapping the solemn geography of human limits. You are slow and deliberate, a dedicated cartographer. *** The empty book of a new year opens. I am the marble, you the sculptor. Your tool is a refined…
Original Prose Poetry: “Kiddie Pool” by Brad Rose

People seem to like it when I lie to them. It gives them peace of mind, although I’m not sure whether this is due to my strategy or tactics—that’s for the experts to decide. After giving the matter my full attention, I’ve resolved to pull more rabbits out of my coonskin cap. Until then, I’d…
Poetry: Four Sonnets by Brendan Lorber

I believe in science and also Who gets closer the further they get? Everyone believes in science and alsowhy time calls itself a spell The magic of returning to morning consciousnessis that we do when the reason we do is super unavailable until much later and is often the answer a spider trapped in larger spider’s…
Restored Fiction: “Slow 9/11” by Dolan Morgan

“Can you describe a time when someone betrayed you?” This question is posed to me by Jan during a round of The Ungame, which I play over lunch with a group of colleagues in our architecture firm on the 92nd floor. The Ungame looks deceptively like Candy Land but is described, in its product materials,…
Original Poem: “A Message to Meg, from the Dead of Night” by Joe O’Brien

I’m texting you this anachronisticpainting of our favorite TV characterto remind us what memories feel like I’m following this feed where they mash up old Simpsons gagswith other old Simpsons gags and then mash those up with Sopranos quotesso I might wring every last droplet of joy that I canfrom whatever I can still wrap…
Original Fiction: “Irish Setter” by Travis Flatt

Mrs. Withers wants to repeat our conversation. Mrs. Withers corners me in the hall. In body language, Mrs. Withers is illiterate. I edge away from Mrs. Withers. “Mrs. Withers” might not be Mrs. Withers’ name, so I’m careful not to call Mrs. Withers “Mrs. Withers.” My father, Mrs. Withers seems to think, and I share…
Poetry: “Ode to Broken Birthdays and an Empty High Noon Can” by Samantha Cross

I don’t know if it was the combined birthday partiesWith the Daytona 500 for Alex and me as children,Or being told to shut up when I playedMy saxophone that fateful night in sixth grade.Maybe it was the standardized testing that took placeThe first week of March in Connecticut,Where the governorFailed to recognize the importanceOf in-class…