Flying Island

Beginnings by Dave Malone The two grand quilting ladies leave their mark on the street— one a cigarette butt, pink with yesterday’s lips, the other a crimson handbag catching the light just so— when forty years back, she rode the Panama Limited to Chicago fresh from a divorce that never took, her elbows back on Ozark table a winter later. The smoker knows the story as much as her own— her husband a ghost running through flowerbeds she weeds out at the senior center where indoors she pokers with grace—far less lonely than any suicide king she plays. Dave Malone’s bio: “ I received my graduate degree in English from Indiana State in 1994 and later lived in the New Albany area. I no longer reside in Indiana, but I consider myself part Hoosier. My great (7th) grandmother, Mary Coughman Bridgewater, was a doctor of medicine in the early 1800s and lived at the small village of Pigeon Roost with her family. Though she lost children at the conflict ...

By Tom Weller Heaviest Sportsmen. The heaviest sportsman of all time was the wrestler William J. Cobb of Macon, Georgia, who in 1962 was billed as the 802-lb. “Happy Humphrey” Guinness Book of World Records, 1978 A gasp ripples through the crowd, a sound like a breath being passed from person to person to person, when Happy Humphrey enters the ring. This sound is money.   Happy removes the flat cap from his head, raises both arms above his head, waves the cap like a stranded man trying to signal a passing plane. As the ring announcer takes up his microphone, Happy lumbers, a slow circle inside the ring, arms raised, cap still waving. Happy makes sure every eye in the arena sees just how big he is, stretches himself up to his full height like a man trying to scare off a bear.   Arms like sacks of hams, belly like a tractor tire, thighs like wine barrels, big is Happy’s job. Big is good for business. Bigger is better.   Bigger, bigger Happy thinks as he stroll...

On Your Leaving by Edward Alley The sun-filled clouds glow red, shadowing power lines. Barren trees denote the season. One tree, disfigured with carvings and disease, its life threatened, persists. A train roars through my head. A light slants through darkness, as your life flits past our observation car. Time and times clatter with the rhythm of ties binding steel and earth. A conductor whistles, punches tickets, helps passengers find their way. A church with hesitant spire trembles in the wind. A burned out semi dominates an auto graveyard, its bass horn mute. As the sun sets, the train shudders to a stop, brakes sigh, the end of the line. snow falls covers  tracks From Edward Alley: “'On Your Leaving' was written in tribute to my best friend of 20 years, who died in August 2014. I wrote the poem on a train trip to Tucson, Arizona, as I observed what flashed by in the window.   I am a retired United Methodist minister who spent the past 35 years of m...

The Past by James Owens Refugees from that doomed country, we huddle around a few smuggled objets d’art : Grandfather’s insistence on his old-fashioned razor, that day flying kites on the sea cliffs, baths together when we were newlyweds, meaning the bronze curve of hips, at last a loss of control. Now, a breathing world whispers each day burned into the waves. We grasp the tension between contempt for causality and love of form, the suave gradient toward chaos. Sunsets beat a long pulse at our wrists, the warm rocking that landed us here. The moon comes shimmering, that brilliant scar. Bio: James Owens's most recent collection of poems is Mortalia , from FutureCycle Press. His poems, stories, translations, and photographs have appeared in Valparaiso Poetry Review, Poetry Ireland Review, Superstition Review, Kestrel, and The Stinging Fly, among others. He lives in Wabash, Indiana.

Match Made by Dan Carpenter It’s all about what you bring to the relationship He brought poetry She brought jazz They set down plates and glasses For serving them On a gingham blanket They shook and spread together On the lush grass in the wooded Little-trammeled corner of the park Where they sat and sighed for a fair while Faces lifted to the sun Then bent to the task The spooning and pouring The murmured blessing The silent parting of lips To take and taste One another's portion Strange nourishment Exotic brew Sprung rhythms and 4/4 time Lines and chords from God knows where Levertov whisper on the tongue tip Coltrane claw across the palate Seizing heart and breath Mating them to one forever afternoon At last, knowing their fill Bio: Dan Carpenter is a freelance writer and former Indianapolis Star columnist, born and residing in Indianapolis. He has published poems in Flying Island, Poetry East, Illuminations, Pearl, Xavier Review, Sou...

Savor by Michael Nierste A butter yellow sun For breakfast toast With juicy raspberries running But I sit Savoring the sight Listening to the song Resounding Anticipating that first kiss of day Loving This morning This moment Mike Nierste is an “aspiring Hoosier poet who has taken a few courses at the Indiana Writers Center. ”