a poem by Lara Coley


Sometimes when I sit with you,
the silence begins screaming,
every cell of your skin hollering,
sounding like car alarms.
If I am close enough to touch you,
the ringing in my ears lasts for weeks.
shut up, shut it up, say something…
And then silently, with barely a smile,
you beckon me back,
lasso my clattering bones and fit them together
with yours. Your fingers become bows,
slid across the taut strings of my skin.
A melody begins and I wonder,
how could I have ever turned away
from the song that rises and falls between us,
an amateur orchestra.



cool lady copy

                              Illustration by Casey Mattson



Lara Coley is one of the few San Francisco natives left. She is pursuing her MFA in poetry at SFSU. Her writing and visual art have been published in New American Writing, Red Light Lit, Rogue Agent, sPARKLE & bLINK, Transfer and Visible Ink. She serves brunch and wicked sarcasm when she’s not wrestling with paints and des petits mots. We thank her for her work!

Casey Mattson is an illustrator and musician from Oakland, CA. His art can be found here, and his music can be found here. We thank him for his contributions to this issue!

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