Flying Island

Dear Flying Island Readers: Welcome to the 2.23 Edition of the Flying Island Journal! In this edition we publish poems by Charlotte Melin , Jared Carter , John Dorsey , and Karly Vance . Inspired to send us your fiction, poetry, or creative nonfiction? For more info on how to submit, see the tab above. Thank you for reading, Flying Island Editors and Readers

After New Year’s Eve Already gone the luminaries of New Year’s Eve that lighted the curving paths in the park, the forks to enter or exit. A chill has settled in, and silence. A neighbor lifts the undecorated tree into his truck, a few kids straggle over the green. Here and there a puff of steam exhales from  a heat vent. At one house the smell of laundry drifts over the sidewalk, reaching out as if we were  all tidying up together. No one is welcoming the months to come, the inevitable discord. Yet last night in the dark, the luminaries were so peaceful as they faintly flickered promises. Charlotte Melin grew up in Indiana and returns to visit. Retired from the University of Minnesota, she lives in Northfield and has published widely about German poetry, the environmental humanities, and teaching.

  Breakdown And now, denouement , what you will.           Nothing will last, And everything’s a kind of thrill –           a sudden blast Of sound, heralding the king, who           moments before, Reprieved hyenas in the zoo,           advised the whore And lobbyist to squeeze together,           wrote off their debts, Proclaimed an end to sultry weather,           welched on all bets. Jared Carter lives in Indianapolis .        

Poem for Jeff Rudy i don’t know where you are now maybe your ponytail has gone gray  maybe your thick glasses  are smudged with the dust from old books & you can no longer see your way  out of the worry that comes with age maybe you no longer swim  in rivers flooded with thoughtfulness as far away as pittsburgh  or johnstown  where you once sang  about the mythology of weathered hands where i once dreamt of you painting your nails in a torn t-shirt reading while jim daniels it must have been a dream your shirts were always freshly pressed & you only read larry levis & ed ochester like it was a religion & when you extended your hand i took it  & it’s been over 30 years with you now somewhere lost in time & i’m still waiting for you  to let go. John Dorsey is the former poet laureate of Belle, Missouri and the author of Pocatello Wildflower . He may be reached at archerevans@yahoo.com .

Poor Counsel I cannot tell you If ice, when it’s thin and blooming  Is like a window pane; If, when you are very still, You can see walleye and pike Darting in the dull deep. I cannot ask you If ice, when it is thick, Can hold in any sound. Mouth to ear, mouth to mouth I hear It is remarkable how jealous  Even small lakes can be, How whole the seal. I cannot warn you How to know when the lake Will become a tired old woman Sweeping piles of Ice or rock or bone Onto the shoulder of the shore  I cannot teach you  How to find the right place To cut a hole in the ice. How even to begin?  What blade can control the cut? I hear that ice tears like skin (Mercurial) And heals like a warm shore (Scarless). Karly Vance grew up in Bay City, Michigan and studied writing at Hope College. Her writing has been published in journals including Common Ground Review, Dunes Review, Midwest Quarterly , and Madison Review . She lives with her husband and son in the Chicago area.