An ancient bird broke away from the brigade and snuck in
to watch a film on trees. One tree was a city. The bark was
part moss god, part gauze. The bark was startling. Like
snakeskin without a lens. Like giraffe spots. Like bodies.
“Tomorrow,” the film’s narrator promised, “wind.”
Benjamin Niespodziany is a Chicago-based writer whose work has appeared in Fence, Puerto del Sol, Booth, Salt Hill, & elsewhere. A former Olive Garden waiter, his debut collection of poetry (with blurbs by Lemony Snicket & CAConrad) was released last November through Okay Donkey Press, & his forthcoming novella will be out with X-R-A-Y later this year. You can find more at neonpajamas.com.
Other stars in the Saguaro asterism:
When we reach out to her, she clasps one of our hands in both of her own. We feel the impression of her fingers on ours long after she has turned away.
[He keeps handing me cacti]
He was gentle and quiet until my hands filled up, then he made me his pushpin...
The Chinese Man and the Desert
Idioms were a topic of conversation but not the reason people spent money on the app. The people on the app were lonely. Twenty dollars an hour was not bad for a cure.
I Asked Pain Its Address,
Ashish Kumar Singh
Here, the pain says and points to my leg like a child unsure of where the Arctic might be on a map.
Sneha Subramanian Kanta
On a June night when the south-westerly monsoon winds bring drizzles to Mahrashtra, my father asks if we must call my grandfather. I immediately agree.
Time and Tides