Bryan Edenfield… April 5, 1722: The Dutch explorer Jacob Roggeveen discovers Easter Island.


April 5, 1722: The Dutch explorer Jacob Roggeveen discovers Easter Island.

The moai of Rapa Nui pollinate a secluded speck in the rippled blue Pacific,
standing guard, mourning, daydreaming. Are they the blink of our eyes?
Our souls encased in stone? Silent, blinded, carved with the ancient
history of rain and wind, shivering at night when we clamor through
the thicket of nightmares, mediaeval thorns reminding our skin that grass
has teeth. The dark cave world, stalactites of cerulean sky and a shifting
fur of green, the weeds slither between her toes. It’s not uncommon to

live beneath a tall man’s shadow. Buried deep beyond the shores are giants,
the megafauna of Terra Australis. Today we witness another kind of resurrection;
maybe this is where the idols fell but nothing can smash this stone. Forever
trapped in a day of rest, maybe I have returned to the garden of Eden….
Saw a turtle, floating weed, and birds. Smoke rises. Ready the guns, because

here has been spoiled by man too. I admire the stupid animal; to them,
mirrors are magic. Here the devil plays: ‘t is tyd, ‘t is tyd, geeft vuur.
We killed a dozen, but the moai are immortal. Watch them gather around
the statues, praying, prostrating. Goodbye, land of fire. We have not
reached the end of the earth yet. I continue my father’s obsession. All
worship the ancestors. Goodbye, brother. Let you too be guided by a


Bryan Edenfield was born in 1982 in Mesa, Arizona. He currently resides in Seattle, Washington. He is the co-founder and director of Babel/Salvage, a small press/arts organization. He is the author of 33 Opening Paragraphs, Glossolopolis Number One and numerous short stories and essays. As a publisher, he has put out three books by Seattle based authors: Filthy Jerry’s Guide to Parking Lots by Graham Isaac, You Will Get in Trouble by Ryan A. Johnson, and The Midnight Channel by Evan J. Peterson.

Copyright © 2014 by Bryan Edenfield







David Mehler… William Loans You A Trailer


William Loans You A Trailer

Your friend, the poet, William Fairbrother,
has lent you a trailer to camp in.

You arrive at a campsite but it feels as though

you’re living out of this trailer, maybe in Germany,
and not merely camping, as if on holiday or something.

There are several strange features about this trailer but you can’t remember what they are,

first, because you’re dreaming all this,
second, because you’re trying to remember details

after waking. Maybe it was the kinds of clothes it had in drawers, the kitchen utensils

or light switches, upholstery color, or that there was a fire-ring in the middle of the floor?
You arrive at the campground finally, but you have a hard time selecting a campsite

because it feels like you’re in a suburb or open farmland,

but the trees suggest a National Forest. Somehow you become separated from the trailer
and not sure how–either you walk or drive away in the car or truck

you pulled it with, you can’t remember. In any case, you’ve lost it.

You are filled with unease, not only because you’ve lost this trailer
and can’t find it, but because you’re afraid someone might

have stolen it and you should never have let that happen.

You are either walking around from campsite to campsite looking,
or driving, and part of the problem is there’s nothing remarkable about the car

because it’s yours,

and the campground roads are bumpy and connected by very uneven
terrain and you meet people you know, but barely, along the way–

maybe they’re relatives by birth or marriage, in fact.

At some point you either wake and go back to sleep
or for some reason the dream changes, and it feels like

you’ve been wandering looking for this trailer all night,

but then you find it. Even so, something doesn’t feel right
and you don’t get a sense of relief or release from it,

but wake up really tired, not knowing why any of this should matter,

but another friend suggests it may have something to do with poetry.


Dave Mehler and his wife live in Newberg, OR, where they own and run a coffeehouse. He edits the online journal, Triggerfish Critical Review, and his poetry chapbook, God Truck Nature was published in the anthology, Burning Gorgeous: 7 21st Century Poets.

Copyright © 2014 by David Mehler








Raul Sanchez… Crossing the River


Crossing the River

Crossing the river on a fishing expedition
my religious convictions crashed
at the corner of Maynard and South King Street

looking to the left my right ear heard
a whisper only people stuck
in winter weather can hear

when their earlobes are numbed
by cold Canadian winds.
My mother said:

“bajo los arcos” ” under the arches”
astonished by the message
I walked on my numbed two feet

toward Jackson down by the arches
still remember the echo, gasping, grunting
lamenting whispers under that bridge

where I spent the night sleeping
on cold concrete
a long, long time ago

dead man hanging from the bridge,
his spirit whispers cold hush murmured
I listened-numbed-on cold-concrete


Raúl Sánchez is a Seattle Bio-Tech technician, eschatologist, colletic, prosody enthusiast, hamartiologist, translator, DJ, and cook who conducts workshops on The Day of the Dead. He was featured in the program for the 2011 Burning Word Poetry Festival in Leavenworth WA. His most recent work is the translation of John Burgess’ Punk Poems in his book Graffito. He has been a board member of the Washington Poets Association and is a moderator for the Poets Responding to SB 1070 Facebook page.

Copyright © 2014 by Raul Sanchez









Jesse Minkert… Neapolitan Major


Neapolitan Major

Muscles pull into lumps hard as burls.
When knots release, when fingers
remember their positions,
the frets won’t let me rest.
Emery shuffle on callouses erodes
what once was hard and numb
and turns it pink and easy again.


Jesse Minkert lives in Seattle. Wood Works Press published a letterpress collection of his microstories, Shortness of Breath & Other Symptoms, in 2008. His work has appeared in Randomly Accessed Poetics, Confrontation, Paper Nautilus, Floating Bridge Review, and Harpur Palate.

Copyright © 2014 by Jesse Minkert