Exterminating Angel Press

Creative Solutions for Practical Idealists.

Exangel

SO WHAT IF THERE IS THE OCCASIONAL ACCIDENT.

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by John Grey.

Broken dishes –
are they a good laugh or grief?

I love a woman who promised both
and kept her word.

So how do I adore the fragrance she wears today
and yet despise tomorrow’s?
I just accept them,
good or bad.
Same with the gifts.
Same with her family.
And all that’s happened.
And all that hasn’t.
How comforting it is
to never have to choose.

Dead flowers in a vase.
Clothes tossed recklessly across the floor.
But then there’s the feeling I get sometimes,
light and flowing,
like having wings.

I marvel at the passage of the years,
how none of it was rehearsal,
and everything that’s passed between us
could be kneaded, massaged,
until shaped like a heart –
a joy outside of reason.

It all comes down to
what I’m looking at now,
a floor full of shattered plates,
busted cups,
all knowing, all glowing,
with silken threads of sun.
No laugh. No grief.
Something else again.

 

 

Gen X Exegesis.

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by Sean Murphy. How else can our resilience be explained except by the video games we played— the early ‘80s offering us invaders from space on screen and nuclear apocalypse everywhere else (except when we were asleep, and that’s the lesson we learned, cable TV our textbook: death never rests), so even when you’re staying […]

We can’t use you.

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by Diana Morley. If you don’t have a degree we can’t use you. Thirty matchbook cover cutouts saved, rubberbanded, over decades. I brought them along to each new house tucked into a box with pencils and stamps till they fell off my desk and the band broke. Yellow-and-black comic-book images show one man talking to […]

Imprints.

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by Diana Morley. Swearing at the arctic blast fast-freezing my nose to toes— laughing at my old fridge whining pitifully ice cubes clinging together, chilling. Late afternoon still a hard shine on the dark-watered lake frozen overnight hiding life and depths. Backyard snow reflecting sunlight into my home till early evening, the bright white cover […]

Mother May I.

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by John Van Pelt. There’s always red, double-deckers resolved from fog and granite, the boy’s glasses blearing city lights in slashes of impasto, no holiday cheer but reaches his ears in a sodden frenzy, clots of pleasantries pinched off by tinkling bells, muted all beneath the threadbare coverlet of incessant rain. He’s late to a […]

Straight.

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by Holly Day. There is a stretch of highway in Kansas where the guy who was responsible for painting the line down the middle of the road fell asleep and drove into a field instead. It’s not usually a problem to pass this spot in the daytime, although if you’ve been following that white line […]

For an Acquaintance and His Wife with Alzheimer’s.

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by Barry Vitcov. Who are you to say I would not be there? After all these years, you still have some doubt that in the end, when the world seems unfair, you would be abandoned and left without someone knowing well your questions and fears. Although we’ve often talked of the unknown, with worry in […]

I Wasn’t Mature at Their Age, Either.

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by David D. Horowitz. My memory feels like an underground river. It flows into and just below consciousness as it meanders through my day, which is sometimes spent tutoring. I’m semi-retired but I work part-time as a verbal skills tutor at a nationally franchised learning and test prep center in the Seattle area. My students’ […]

Profile.

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by Joel Glover. There’s a lot to know about Gwen Leonhard. For example, this is a woman who really loves a footnote[1]. Another thing about her is that she is laugh-out-loud funny, adding beats of wry humour[2] or pure silliness which bring a depth and vibrancy to her characters. As an emerging author, Gwen isn’t […]

Aside.

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by Marissa Bell Toffoli. Field of infinite whispers. Supple blades of pale sage,
the color of cat eyes. How they widen / wink in sunlight. It’s not always clear what is real. The past is ever present / now slips out from under us. Day at the shore, look out for the horizon. Memory traces a […]