2 Poems


The freaks refused to leave the harbor. When business owners closed down
their shops around the block in protest, the freaks sat across the wooden
planks of the docks. Not even the night crew could convince them to away.
Business owners refused to open their doors at sunset so all the fishermen
threw the freaks into the sea. Heads bobbing across water, the freaks
searched for mermaids below. Some sailors swear by the moonsongs they hear
at night coming up from the deep, and such an oath has come to secure
certain promise.


Woody Allen End

so much to offer, lilacs late into the night drape their necks, wet, the
girl in her mother’s hand, from the summer drizzle, for cereal in an open
bowl, too much Italian in the blood late to arrive, a girl of many
languages in the hand of a woman, worldly, her gaze straight into the
brick, eyes violets peeling open the intermission, the temporary date of
her legs crossed under a skirt, where is this moment? Asks a sky blistered
by the moon’s eclipse, sun and night splitting, unknowing time underneath
the umbrella, fashion’s lower back curls into forward fold, stands a girl,
a woman, that long wait between poetry’s lyrics fishing for water and air.


Heather Palmer, author of the online-serialized novella *Charlie’s Train*(the2ndhand), chapbook *Mere Tragedies* (Girls With Insurance), novella *Complements: of Us*(Spork Press), and forthcoming poetry book, *Starfish Over Oyster* (Love Symbol Press) has edited as intern at *Monkeybicycle Magazine* and Dzanc Books, and teaches at Harold Washington College of Chicago. As of this August, she will live in New York.