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Cover
Table of Contents
Editor's Notes
Donations
Submission Guidelines
Website

Stories & Essays
Balance
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By Alison Baumy
Contemporary Cultural Differences...
_ By Ninni Siurua
Eclipsed Yesterdays
_ By Clyde Windjammer
Healthy Guy
_ By David J. LeMaster
Immortalis Letum
_ By Sophie Davis
Last Call For Salvation
_ By Angela P. Markham
My Fault
_ By Ro Thorton
Pacific Northwest
_ By Aaron Hellem
Q-Q Ca Choo
_ By Billy Pilgrim
The Best Laid Plans
_ By John A. Ward
The Ecstasy of Cooking
_ By Sam Nolting
The Girl With the Green Umbrella
_ By J.R. Earlebeck
The Gods of Houston
_ By Rebekah Frumkin

Poetry
Athena's Owl
_ By Amberly Mason
But I Have Never Known This
_ By Kaleen Love
Clouds On Your Floor
_ By Savannah Bobo
Crowded Lobby
_ By M. Blair Spiva
Ever After
_ By Bennie Johnson
Important Questions
_ By P.T. Bell
Migration
_ By Sarah Wassberg
Moon Goddess
_ By Kristina Diane Smith
Oldest Profession
_ By Ashley Polker
On Visiting Hay-on-Wye
_ By M. Blair Spiva
Sodom and Gomorrah
_ By Jessica Fannin
Wal-Mart
_ By P.T. Bell

Art & Photography
Jeremy Harker
_ Paintings
Douglas C. Knight
_ Photography
Jed Knox
_ Paintings and Drawings
May Ann Licudine
_ Paintings
Danny Malboeuf
_ Paintings
Alex Stanbury
_ Photography

Clouds On Your Floor
By Savannah Bobo


I dipped my finger in
the thought-dormant bright colors
of my permeating oil paints
waiting
even their containers were lovely
I used them like watercolors
they made tickling patterns
down the thin skin of my wrist
as I painted
used my fingers
as the fine hairs of a brush

I twisted pictures
onto the blank white of you
which I had imagined as
empty and just waiting for someone
to fill them with a
constant overflowing ambition like mine
rich and thick and abundant
with my fine lines of
azure and rose and mauve

I exhausted myself with entertaining you
I sat on my heels and stroked
clouds on your floors when I had to,
when I was too tired for sending them higher
But you sat back as if you were
eighty years old and these things were
as good to you as the brown carpet
stained with your slow sloth

You nodded to me as if I were a little girl
with crayon creations of miscolored ponies
as if the worlds inside my head were
things you had hovered over idly before
and not noticed anything brilliant
or unusual at all
in their complete eclipsing of you

 


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SAVANNAH BOBO is a sophomore at Berry College in northwest Georgia. She is majoring in English and minoring in Visual Communication with hopes of becoming a writer, photographer, or graphic designer. Savannah has had poetry published in the literary magazines ink! and The Circle.