"Moonshot" by Scott Burwash

in

Two seasons have passed since I last saw you,
alone in the fen with your antlers and bare expressions.
They tell me that I will get better in time,
but I spend most days folding paper cranes to no end.
The thing I never said to you lives under my tongue,
pregnant with guilt and hoping for absolution.
If you flew to my open window tonight
I would ask you to stay with me until the rain comes back.
Do you still have the pressed flowers that my grandpa
gave you or did they spill onto the floor like everything else?


Covering my eyes now.


Waiting for everything to still.

 

Scott Burwash (he/him) is a writer of poetry and prose with previous work appearing in Apeiron Review, Eclectica Magazine, and Dark Harbor Magazine. You can find him on Instagram and Bluesky (@scottburwash).

Two Poems by Will Neuenfeldt

in

Content warning: suicide and death

“Relocation”

I prefer to say

he took his own life.

 

To where exactly?

I like to think either

 

Fourth of July weekend

on Gull Lake or

 

the bachelor party trip

to Denver where

he enjoys restaurants

we didn’t have time for

 

and hikes those

Rainbow Mountains

 

we admired

yet never had time to climb.

 

Better yet,

he moved there for work,

 

growing old with kids

alongside the Rockies.

 

He would come back

on Christmas but only

 

to visit family because

he should be with them,

 

not alone in a pine box.


 

“St. Thomas on the Pines Cemetery”

I walk around the locked gate onto wet grass

in search of his face on headstones,

following bumblebees to fresh bouquets

but even they don’t have his name.

I text friends for directions, only mosquitos buzz by,

as gnats dance in light between oak trees

and ants read brass plates one letter at a time.

Before any local calls me out for trespassing,

I pace back to the lone car in the parking lot

with tennis shoe prints not far behind,

scratching red notifications I can’t answer back.

 

Will Neuenfeldt studied English at Gustavus Adolphus College and his poems are published in Capsule Stories, Months to Years, and Red Flag Poetry. He lives in Cottage Grove, MN, home of the dude who played Steven Stifler in those American Pie movies and a house Teddy Roosevelt slept in.

"Death" by Mary Alice Holmes

in

I practice dying when I can
I let myself die a bit when a show ends
I've let food die on the counter
I've let whole days die around me while I laid in bed
I let my potted plants die


When my twin died,
I let my plans for the future die with her


I've let all the leaves on trees die
In fact
In the winter
I've watched everything die
And done nothing

 

Mary Alice Holmes was born and raised in Columbus Ohio. She attended The Ohio State University where she studied philosophy. She moved to Madison Wisconsin to pursue a career in hospital IT. She writes poetry primarily on the topics of grief, death, mental health, and the natural world. In addition to poetry, she does a variety of art including glass mosaics and doodling mini-comics. She lives with her partner Alex and their dog Winnie.