My friend
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serene has a wonderful ear for words, which she uses to select work for her fine publication,
42 Magazine. I won't deny I am saying that in part because she likes to publish my poetry. :) But words from every page of the latest issue of
42 Magazine pounced on me as I turned the pages.
"Before Kaveri started to die she lived briefly like a flowering cactus, all thorns and ablaze with colors." ("One Step One Step and a Limp," Smriti Ravindra)
"I must insist on appropriate attire for dinner," Whistler's mother clucked. ("Inside Out," Hall Jameson)
"After he ate salad your father was coaxed out of the kitchen and into a van by a preacher named Rodney." ("Things that Came Out of the Kitchen," Grace Maselli)
"'pretty' is a word you can hit with a stone to watch it crumple and tear" ("The Wasp Garden," Story Boyle)
"A billboard pasted to the window read, 'Every book ever published in stock.'" ("Bibliopolis," Frank Roger)
"The house is quiet but never silent." ("Nothing Here Can Wash Away," Amanda England)
"Fragrant as a bee's buzz." ("Lemonovember," Daniel Ari)
"She reaches out—a slash of arm through air—and misses her target." ("Four Minutes," Jennifer Stern)
"The fog rests on the asphalt, our houses a collection of gables and shingles in the Savannah mist." ("Betty's Branch," Linda Heuring)
"Her bones would probably crunch like a cricket shell
but I doubt her marrow could be as silvery" ("Cosmovore Meets Her Antithesis," Kristi Carter)
"Theresa wanders into the swamplands in her dreams. Sometimes she is on a bicycle" ("Notes on a Father," Jenny Maloney)
