Issue No. 8, Spring 2014

“And their legs were soft and the wheat was rough and everything sun-buttered brown and damp…”
Brianna Sulzener

Mary, the babysitter who chewed
her red lips raw trying to teach him
to tie his shoes. Mary of the rough looks.

Amy in the Everglades,
who taught him how to make
strings from rabbit skins.

She swam half-naked in a black river then he loved her.

When he says plain he means pretty.
He has a thing for milkmaids,
says they’ve got the sweetest cream.

Anna drew the Devil on the wall.
She drew it in glitter. She drew it in spit,
and then bled on it.

She said don’t count your pastries before they’ve puffed.

Gracie went out like a switch.
It was Christmas morning and
she was feeling sacrificial.

Dina joined the revolution in Cairo.
He hasn’t heard from her since.

She could never let anything go, then she went.


Brianna Sulzener is a Floridian living in Iowa City. Her poems have recently appeared in Goblin Fruit, Stone Telling, and Mirror Dance.