Rub the callus

where the pencil rests

instead of the bare base

of your ring finger. 

When you aren’t feeling


so much like yourself, 

what is your relationship

to enough? The sea


that gives you sand, the foam

that gives you the spray


of algae floating toward river,

salt into a far off fresh?

            Will you let the conches rest

with their oracles gestating


or beg they scream

bloody murder? Evenings 

the pencil marks two 

dimensionality like a dog 


who sits and laps

at the edge of a mirage


called thirst. 

At night the foam builds

without shine. If you don’t 


bed a scientist, will you 

never hear that 


the existence of the surface is 

more important than what 

the surface contains


or your silence? 


If dreams weren’t fluid,

            they would answer 

to day. Instead 

they drown it.


Amy A. Whitcomb

Poetry and prose by Amy A. Whitcomb have recently appeared in Witness, Poet Lore, The Baltimore Review, Terrain.org, and other journals. She holds a Master of Science degree and a Master of Fine Arts degree, both from the University of Idaho. Her writing has been honored with a Pushcart Prize nomination and residencies with the Jentel Foundation, Playa, and Great Smoky Mountains National Park. You can meet Amy at www.amyawhitcomb.com/artist.

And the sweater you’ve been missing

appears among some clothes you are sorting


and the recipe you’d forgotten falls from

the pages of the cookbook you’re perusing


and the person who convinced herself

she must hate you for your differences


appears in a dream as a character to protect.

And the friendship once abandoned


is resumed, though only in spectral form,

in a familiar world you’ve never seen,


where garments are only imagined

to fit, and flavors are tasted


simply by reading ingredient lists,

but promises to cook it again


are never kept because it didn’t

taste that good in the first place.


Nancy Whitecar

Nancy Whitecar is a professional pianist and music teacher living in the Bay Area, California, who is making publication of her writing her third act. Her poetry has been published in “Stick Figure,” “Loud Coffee Press,” and “A&U Magazine,” which nominated her poem “Punch Line” for a Pushcart Prize. Her short stories have appeared in “The MacGuffin” and “Ember: A Journal of Luminous Things.” She’s listening to jazz or Beethoven at home when she’s not hiking and camping with her husband.

Fabio Sassi

Hello I’m lost

Lost archive

Fabio Sassi

Fabio Sassi makes photos and acrylics using whatever is considered to have no worth by the mainstream. He often puts a quirky twist to his subjects or employs an unusual perspective that gives a new angle of view. Fabio lives in Bologna, Italy and his work can be viewed at www.fabiosassi.foliohd.com

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