My Husband and I Talk of Nursing Homes at the Shedd Aquarium

The great moray eel whips her head out 
of the cave, demon-faced, cursing, 
a prehistoric ghost. 

Even with the glass between us, you pull back 
from the glittering eye, the thirsty mouth, 
this spectacle of ruined survival. 

I want to say, yes, death comes like this
powerful-jawed and unrelenting—
to remind us, by contrast, how fragile the anemone is. 

            Watch how it waves, tentacle-bright.
            That kills, too. Just in brilliant color. 

Death always comes out stinging— 
bite & poison, eel or flower, 
disguised and hidden in the craggy reef. 

I want you to know I see the coral 
is the same color as the bedsheets 
at the nursing home, the same color 

as the scrubs of nurses who wipe your mother’s 
mouth and wheel her to Mass. And I want 
to say, yes, I, too, see her face in the moray’s—

the mouth gasping open and closed, 
the trembling jaw that spells mortal. 
We will all have our moment like hers,

we will all be spit out into that unfathomable blue. 
The cave’s invisible veil will float us 
into primordial sea. But until then, slip

            back into the darkness with me. Hold 
            my hand among all the glowing tanks,

all this breakable glass, hold me close 
in the water until the inevitable last.


Christine Butterworth-McDermott

Christine Butterworth-McDermott’s latest poetry collection is Evelyn As: Poems (Fomite, 2019). She is the founder and co-editor of Gingerbread House Literary Magazine. Her poetry has been published in such journals as Alaska Quarterly Review, The Massachusetts Review, Prime Number Magazine, and River Styx, among others.

Header photograph by Deborah Hughes
Header artwork by Jordan Keller-Wilson

Monsoon Showers

A fallen, yellow leaf lays on a rock, ice melting around it. The photo appears in black and white with a V-shaped center section in bright, water-colors.

Black clouds
         roll & gallop
churning the skies
        some kind of preparation
               for war

shimmering sheets
              of slanting rain
yanked & contorted
             in elemental violence

tree-crowns lashing
             left and right
as if the enemy is within

the animal clamour of
wild doors & windows

          and then,

the sudden outburst
           of small feet upon
    the drenched terraces
             shrieks of abandon
                     & glee

and the frenzied hands
                  of mothers
clawing laundry down
             from the line

so much joy
so much urgency

so much nonchalance

as today as perhaps 
a thousand years before

impervious to the monarchs
who wield
           neither rain
                      nor thunder


Faiz Ahmad

Faiz Ahmad is a recent graduate in Biological Sciences, IIT Madras, India. His work appears in, Poetry Daily, Denver Quarterly, Poetry Northwest, Salamander, Carousel and others.

Header photograph by Deborah Hughes
Header artwork by Jordan Keller-Wilson

how time curves come morning

A fallen, yellow leaf lays on a rock, ice melting around it. The photo appears in black and white with a V-shaped center section in bright, water-colors.

this time i slip the curve under
my tongue to curl, this etched 
morning, this slow creaking light

that lisps a leak, that creeps in
easy to kiss your lip, that weaves
your lock and loops a leg across

your body. this time you wake
me up. you pick my body up off
the gallery floor, having

gathered the shoes i kicked
into the corner while eating
the exhibition with an open mouth,

a flat tongue. you walk my eyes
down what i can’t remember;
i duck into the curve of your neck.

you will always clean up after me
in the morning. you will always pull
my socks on for me. this time either

leaps or lingers but it is not
wasted, looping lightly over
and over, a trace light that

peeks or peers, a teethed grin
that makes lofty plans. i do not step outside
this morning or any.


Jessica Anne Robinson

Jessica Anne Robinson is a Toronto writer and, more tellingly, a Libra. Her poetry is featured or forthcoming with MacroMicroCosm, untethered, Diagram, and Room magazine, among others. Her debut chapbook, Other Mothers’ Funerals, is being published with Frog Hollow Press. You can find her anywhere @hey_jeska.

Header photograph by Deborah Hughes
Header artwork by Jordan Keller-Wilson