So much depends upon
Shadows fall like leaves across
our bed. Your eyes glaze
with doubt like rainwater. Still, you murmur
our ritual, a bedtime story: Sparkle
radiant woman, not ash
but fire. Keep forging us.
Can you read me by starlight?
I crackle crimson, a dancing crescent
moon, whirling arms & bangled wrists,
shooting prayers into the night.
Don’t let go. I’d slip into cracks
you couldn’t follow.
My cycles spin on all that came before
and what might never come at all.
Love & nothing more.
Each beginning marks an end:
an unshelled snail, a ghost,
a hollow, whispering
in the heart of all that’s gone
and won’t return.
You are my cooling brine, slaking
as I burn, again & again;
its red cloak on our porch.
Jennifer Givhan was a 2010 PEN Center USA Emerging Voices Fellow, as well as a finalist in the 2011 St. Lawrence Book Award Contest through Black Lawrence Press. Her work has appeared in over forty journals, including Rattle, The Los Angeles Review, Crab Creek Review, The Mayo Review, Blood Lotus, and The Southwestern Review. She teaches composition at The University of New Mexico.
Melyssa Anishnabie is a self-taught artist and amateur photographer with a slight fetish for gauze, bones and rusty things. She calls Toronto home, where she lives with 4 cats, 2 dogs and the occassional wayward pigeon. Don’t worry, she won’t catch bird flu.
Her favorite activities are sleeping, canoeing, exploring abandoned places with her camera, playing World of Warcraft (horde ftw) and of course creating in both digital and traditional mediums.
She supports her pets and her art by working as a photo editor and by pretending to be really cool people on tv.