Our bravest contributors have shared with us some of their more earnest efforts from the misty past. Scary Bush should not be reviewed while in the process of drinking liquids, and the reader assumes all risk.
Lab
Annie Vitalsey
The Last Shaman
Carlo Matos
When Jesus Gets Married
Rodd Whelpley
When Jesus gets married, I will play the Dobro.
He remarked on it, dusty, lonesome on a side table,
at a Rose Bowl party. Just the second quarter,
J was slurring words already. He’s into dark home brew.
Jesus dates a workmate of my wife. Marci. Smoking hot,
but baggage – a control freak ex who shot her self-esteem.
She and J are going slow. He’s been good for her so far.
When she started up on opera, he sprung for tickets to Milan.
Who’s sure what Jesus does – a single office across town?
I think he fixes taxes. But better rumors go
he consults for Lilly, has the stuff to keep you mellow.
He is never brassy, but grabs checks that show he’s bank.
The concoction of his wedding is our happy hour game.
Pete’s ordained online. Andria has her bawdy verses
and nieces to drop petals. J asks about the Dobro,
a pawn shop buy from Memphis I lugged home on the train.
Sporadically I dream they really take the plunge.
A small to do. Our buddies. A meeting room in some hotel.
Pete’s a black suit in the front. Marci’s smoking hot. I am first row, right
all witchy finger picks, and, in my lap, the steel and wood guitar.
Then terror bolts me straight awake – I forgot to learn the Dobro.
I rake the brain for second grade – about good boys doing fine.
Then blink myself to normal. Hey, this is Jesus, so
when it’s time for music, I’ll put the slide bar to the strings. And know.
Haunting
Christine Taylor
I Have a Dream
Daniel Romo
Winter
Sonja Johanson, circa 1987
A snowy bird winged overhead,
Observed by only me.
Its frosty flight unheralded,
Alone beneath the trees
Its feathers brush the darkened sky,
And grace the frozen bough –
How gently sweep great winter’s wings,
That all might sleep, enow!
Untitled
Jessie Janeshek
Untitled
Mariah Montoya
