Issue no. 2: matters of the heart
painting - singha hon
poetry - kayla farrell
He peels back
the page of his calendar; it feels like
peeling a scab off an old wound.
The date sticks out like a tombstone
on freshly cut grass,
and he looks cautiously on the grave of memory.
It took a whole week
to remove the bobby-pins. One by one,
like pulling splinters out of his palm.
Now, a year later, he still finds strands of hair
clinging to corners and table legs.
It took a whole month to carve out the feeling
The first few weeks it
sounded like a foreign language
when they had asked what had happened;
her name barely touched his lips.
Now, when he thinks about saying it,
he imagines it dissolving on his tongue.