Saturday, July 28, 2018


Sitting on the window sill, the possum
peers through the glass, its rough smile
bared at the large-buttocked maid
who cooks and does not see it.
What’s in the pot? it asks. The moon
makes its fur almost white. Will you
feed me the way you did last night?

It sits and sucks the dark slowly
into its tiny brain. The kitchen’s light
is yellow. A man walks in and stands
beside the woman. He strokes her breast
and looks at the possum. I have thirteen
nipples, the possum says, but the man
is dumb and tipsy. He just stares

at the possum’s teeth. They remind him
of organ pipes. The woman keeps stirring
the pot with a large wooden spoon, her
other hand on the man’s crotch. His wife sits
in the next room with guests, who bore one
another pleasantly with tales of their lives,
which they don’t consider sad.

The possum doesn’t move, still hoping
to get its apple. It seems it will have to wait
until the dumb man spasms in a little dance.
People, thinks the possum, the weight
of its young warm on its back. It wants to
shout at the two behind the glass, but
its voice is small, smaller than an egg.


Peter Krumbach was born in Brno, Czechoslovakia. His work has appeared in Alaska Quarterly Review, Columbia Poetry Review, RHINO, Salamander Review, and elsewhere. Diane Seuss selected his prose poem “Fugitive” as the Mid-American Review 2017 Fineline Competition winner. He lives in Del Mar, CA.


We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.

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