“Carnations, Pigeons,” by Bainbridge Island poet Amanda Williamsen, finds a hapless heroine drifting skyward each night, her heaviness draining from her head like sand. Mornings, she wakes startled, fallen, back in bed. She wonders if her problem might be gas.
“There once was a polar bear who roamed the great north accompanied by the clouds, his closest friends.” In two new 100-word stories, California author Heather Bourbeau builds a bridge between myth and time.
Somewhere between a punk-rock Harvey Kurtzman and R. Crumb guesting on “Top Chef” are Craig Latchaw’s gleefully gross gourmet recipes, seasoned with all the farmworker abuses, assembly-line injuries, and accumulated factory filth of today’s food industry.
On the heels of the American Thanksgiving holiday, Britain’s L.P. Lee delivers a timely — and richly told — fable of power and abuse, and asks uncomfortable questions about abundance, scarcity, appetite and satisfaction. Her work is exquisitely illustrated by UK artist Annie Ridd.
Youngstown, Ohio-based artist David Slebodnick pulls pages out of children’s books from dream libraries. When encountering these works one has the sense of holding a bound volume of them, accompanied by verse or some fabulous narrative to mark the borders between the wakeful day and sleep.
Boise, Idaho, author and reference librarian Grove Koger brings us this heady, moody, mythic bit of verse, to inspire your own musings.