The Dark Arts

If I look different, taller or fitter, it may be because a kind of prisoner swap has taken place. Somehow I’ve wriggled out from under the extreme judgments of a cold, tyrannical god. I’m still me but not the same. My failures suddenly seem less painful, viewable in retrospect as a series of valiant gestures against the authority of received narratives. Indigenous names for places have been restored, our pale winter bodies renourished. And so we lie down together, she and I, consumers of dreams, while angels dabble in the dark arts and the sniper kneels at the corner window.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is author of the poetry book, The Dark, available from Sacred Parasite, which will also publish his book, Akimbo, in 2025.

The Great Moose Walk

NATURE SUBMISSION:

It was time for The Great Moose Walk. The moose knew it was their task to walk from northern Sweden to the somewhat more hospitable south. In recent years cameras had been placed on their route, and people all over the world watched the moose on television. Inevitably, the cameras affected the animals, who knew that humans wanted to be entertained. "Hey guys," the head of Moosedom said, "Let's show them a thing or two." So they made odd gestures, smiled a lot, pranced and danced and generally showed off. Then the head of Moosedom yelled, "Hey, guys, watch this!"

From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman

Futile Gestures

Leslie struck at the hand as it approached her face.

"Don't touch me."

"There's a leaf in your hair."

"I can take care of myself."

Steven remembered when they cared for each other. He'd cook dinner on nights she got home late. She packed a lunch when he had fieldwork, a chocolate bar hidden at the bottom of the bag.

Those thoughtful gestures became less frequent as the fights occurred more often. She perceived every request as an assault on her freedom. She likely had her own side, but he'd stopped caring long ago.

Steven walked away without another word.