It’s easy to forget that the title of Herman Melville’s most major work, Moby-Dick, has another component to it: Moby-Dick; or, The Whale. Fittingly, Samuel D. Hunter’s adaptation of his own play, The Whale, has plenty of nods to Moby-Dick. And not just because Charlie is “the whale” in question that everyone seems intent on “getting”—particularly a missionary named Thomas (Ty Simpkins), who wants to … Continue reading Moby-Dick Splooges All Over The Whale
Give alternatives for the following, the teacher commands, with a grin,the twelve-year-old who is eager to pass his test.Moonlight, the teacher states with a grimace:A neon tube, the boy promptly replies.A canopy of trees for shelter:A bus stop.A proper bath:A free drizzle.A candle-lit dinner:Chips without fish.Sailing the ocean:Paper boats.A holiday abroad:A book from the public library.Doting parents:Street busking.A pair of pajamas:Old, tattered clothes.Attending church:Text messaging … Continue reading Alternatives by Susie Gharib
Tip toes in the snowFrom my loved ones, old and newA gust of wind blows Continue reading From the Old to the New by Ellen Wright Hervé
On an island far away, I study for a semester with a white-haired woman who wears black polish, slender (black) clothes over a skeletal frame and, in the one extant photograph, sunglasses. “Witch,” a classmate whispers. Yes. The visiting prof is old enough for a few hairs on her chinny-chin-chins…and why is she here for the year except for the money (necessity—not greed)? She is … Continue reading The Classmate Who Tells Me Things by Priscilla Atkins
She was born in a deltaof three rivers. He’d been a native of that river which had caught fire. But physics is not biology.Equal and opposite reactionshappen between two bodies. Their past dissolved into next,torn like a lost lotto ticket,scattered as a broken strand of pearls. Their wounds trailed like the wake of a trawler. They argued through that slipstream of eras and ages, cities and places they … Continue reading Truth, Beauty and Photoshop by Cathy Allman
You were young, and after three Jacks he said he loved you.He touched you awake in places you didn’t know. Decades later, the same man after three Jacks tells you everything wrong with life is because of you. You can’t sleep, and he won’t remember. You hear his irregular breathing,replay the weeks of his chemo. An owl calls from a tree.The clock on the nightstandticks on, like years. … Continue reading The Fire We Spin Around by Cathy Allman
