|Star Land by Sniedze Rungis
The Gills of Kites
Hold the tropical fish
like dirty laundry to air.
I’ll take the reel,
give some slack,
look past mistakes
into your cool blue eyes.
Our daughter’s busy
but she listens to the wind
carrying our thoughts up
before dropping them.
She is busy, but she sees
the string tangled
around my heart tightening
as I take back what I gave you
and we start from the beginning
again. She holds her breath
like a fish taken from water
when the kite lifts.
You tell me to give more
and the fins soar above us
the way we hoped they would.
The Heart’s Unwritten Constitution
causes more problems
than it solves,
I fashion the hairs of your shaven beard
into a lopsided heart
around dried toothpaste and shaving cream
in the sink basin
and leave it for you
Rebecca Schumejda is the author of the
full-length collection of Falling Forward published by sunnyoutside press and also several chapbooks. Most recently her work
has or will appear in The New York Quarterly, Right Hand Pointing, Red Fez, Home Planet News, and Breadcrumb
Scabs. Her Web site is www.rebeccaschumejda.com
like a saw wolfing wood, I
hunched behind a tree and watched the scene—legs battle-
ready, heart a tribal
drum, shock caping eyes. The silver beast
flailed a fist of trunk in the
air, demanding clearance and passage. He
girdled Uncle’s waist with
an iron snorkel and hoisted him to the
heavens as a hell-saddled child to an
expired doll, uprooting that toy
roadblock from uncertainty. Armed without chance,
Uncle flew in a
pocket of wrath and pounded parched soil like thunder.
ears and vexed by the surviving remainder, the ivory-tusked
gaited forward, skewered flesh and wrenched back; he stomped
Uncle’s chest, a massive, leathery pillar crushing pleading
steely rogue trumpeted defeat and stampeded startled shrubs; he
plashed through chocolaty water to purge fate-spilled blood. I
stood over Uncle,
his face discerning a
at his side. I
to our hut. Where
sun hailed the day I
Selva Rolin graduated
Polytechnic State University
in San Luis Obispo, California
with a BA in English and Spanish, and has been teaching for nearly eight years. Her poetry has appeared in various publications
including The New Writer, the novel Love Like That, by Amanda Hill, and Poetry. Currently Selva is seeking
representation for her first completed literary fiction novel. She is working on a second and third novel, learning
French, performing in Spanish theatre, dancing Flamenco, and discovering life with her soul mate in Auvergne, France.
She's deeply inspired by anything that evokes emotion: nature, music, art, travel, people, culture, literature,
best friends, and rouge, rouge wine.
Mary Christine Delea
How to Get into Trouble, Film Noir Style
We’ll make it look like
We’ll push him off the midnight train.
We’ll fool with her medication.
We’ll cut the
black Buick’s breaks.
I’ll hide a knife in the flowerpot out back.
Wear this pair of calfskin gloves.
this white carnation.
Wear this gray overcoat.
Wear this brunette wig.
We’ll get him after a few drinks.
sabotage her wheelchair.
We’ll mess with the gas at the beach house.
We’ll stage a break-in.
got an untraceable gun.
Make sure the neighbors see you kissing and making nice.
Make sure he doesn’t know
Skinny Louie’s been sprung from Sing-Sing.
Make sure the cab driver will remember you.
Make sure you to buy more
Just pick up the hitchhiker standing near the diner.
Just make reservations for the morning flight to
cross the border at sunset and go directly to the hotel.
Just stay in front of the theater, no matter what you hear.
know a guy who owes me a favor.
I know a guy who can get us fake passports.
I know a guy who understands fires.
know a guy who’ll do anything I ask.
It’ll be easy, beautiful.
Just follow the plan, toots.
can go wrong, sweetheart.
I’ve never felt this way before, darling.
The coppers in this town are all on the
Let them send in a private dick.
G-men have other things to worry about.
No flatfoot will figure this out.
course I’ll still love you when this is over.
Why are you talking crazy all a sudden?
You can trust me to never
sell you down the river.
No, I never called anyone but you on that payphone.
When did you get so suspicious?
are you doing with that gun?
Baby, everything’s going so well—
Don’t blow it by doing something stupid.
Mary Christine Delea is from Long Island, New
York and has lived all over the country. She has worked as a college professor, poetry editor, retail
manager, and social worker, and is currently a stay-at-home writer and quilter in a Portland
suburb. Delea’s poems have been published in one full-length collection, The Skeleton Holding Up the Sky (Main
Street Rag Press), two chapbooks, numerous anthologies, and many print and on-line journals. Upcoming and recent publications
include Zone 3, New Ohio Review, New Mexico Poetry Review, and Mid-American Review.