Le cinéaste by Lee Nash

My number’s in an iPhone
next to a straw pillow
on a massively hard bed
next to a bedside table
that holds an inch of vodka
in a bottle bought from Helsinki Airport lounge,
beside a packet of Chinese herbs
and a ridiculously thick paperback;
in a hotel in a province
the name of which I can’t pronounce
where the food is nitrate hot
and its morsels unidentifiable;
behind the table, a window;
outside the light has faded
and if the crew hadn’t all clocked off
they could create their own,
and there on that phone is logged
the duration of our dialogue
which went something like,
Do you want to fall in love?
and that Cage is not an asshole
and that in the morning
you’ll have to fire the producer
despite your jetlagged head,
and here it is on my phone too,
just a basic device
in an unpretentious living space
in a totally undramatic life
despite the fact that
I’m a cast of thousands.

Lee Nash lives in France and freelances as an editor and proofreader. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in print and online journals in the UK, the US and France, including Ambit, Angle, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Mezzo Cammin, Orbis, Poetry Salzburg Review, Presence, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, The Interpreter’s House, The Lake and The World Haiku Review. You can find a selection of Lee’s poems on her website: leenashpoetry.com.

The Many Deaths of the Wives by Leah Angstman

The many deaths of the wives

“Several months ago my wife brought just this kind of
charge against me in Ventura [C]ounty, but the court
dismissed it within a few minutes. I admit I have been
drinking somewhat, but [. … s]he will not come into court
and swear that I threatened to kill her. We have been
married thirty-eight years and I have never killed her once.”
—M. B. Curtis, as quoted by The Oxnard Courier
at a hearing, May 16, 1913

Has he not? Not even once? I’m sure that I have lost to miscount

the unrecorded days and times of my deaths.

How he made me laugh in past lives, the currency of living,

and how the drink speaks through witty widemouthed clouds

in this one, his mouth puckered around it like a guppy.


Not once in thirty-eight years? Not when you hired young pupils too pretty,

and leased the Driskill Hotel with my savings? Not when the son

we created in New York left us between trains to Albany, and you, too gone

to pay a porter, punched a lender in the nose? What made the

Couriers from Denver to Maine then was

not how I walked Dumbarton Garden and

lopped the petals to rude stalks with our son’s fists,

but how yours were always at another man’s ruby-throated wallet.


It wasn’t I who died then, barren and fruitless and ill with chronic neuralgias?

What lofty plain knew us in harmony? Are there friends who remain

who ever knew us apart? Were we separate once, and how in thirty-eight years

have you grown into my thighs, the puffiness of eyes and cheeks and ropes of neck?

Did you never kill me because I would not die quiet?


Does this jury have the idea already—that grave knowledge

of how a woman leaves and leaves and leaves and leaves—

that your death certificate will read marriage status: unknown;

that mine, one more thing I never owned, will not even be written?

For all the deaths you’ve wrought me,

history still believes you died first, and died last,

and that I was never here at all.

Leah Angstman is a historian and transplanted Midwesterner, unsure of what feels like home anymore. She is the recent winner of the Loudoun Library Foundation Poetry Award and Nantucket Directory Poetry Award and was a placed finalist in the Bevel Summers Prize for Short Fiction (Washington & Lee University), Pen 2 Paper Writing Competition (in both Poetry and Fiction categories), Saluda River Prize for Poetry, and Blue Bonnet Review Poetry Contest. She has earned three Pushcart Prize nominations and serves as Editor-in-Chief for Alternating Current Press and a reviewer for Publishers Weekly. Her writing has appeared in numerous journals, including Los Angeles Review of Books, The Rumpus, Tupelo Quarterly, Electric Literature, Midwestern Gothic, Atticus Review, Slice Magazine, and Shenandoah. She can be found at leahangstman.com and on Twitter @LeahAngstman.

Ameri-can by Atar Hadari

I was drinking a Coke one day

at a Grateful Dead concert

and I saw a man beaten to death

with his arms‑ his arms were held back

a way they couldn’t’ve been

‑he was like an American eagle y’know?

And his legs were folded up beneath him.

They beat him till his head was the colour of the fence

‑it was a barbed wire fence, all holes and stench

and the fence should’ve turned red

the way they were zapping him into it‑

I mean‑ they were just zapping him into it‑

they kept saying “Tell us, tell the man‑

I’m a poor nigger, sir,

and I’m sorry for what I done‑”

and he wouldn’t say it‑

and his head just turned brown.

I mean‑ he was black‑ it was brown‑

everybody’s skin is a certain colour

‑but the fence -it -wouldn’t turn red.

And they kept.. I stood there and ‑ I mean‑

I mean I was just drinking a Coke and then‑

I mean I was DRINKING a COKE and this policewoman

came up to me and said

“Excuse me, what are you doing here?

‑this isn’t a public show!” And I said: “No, excuse ME

I’m going to stand RIGHT HERE- this is democracy

I’m going to stand RIGHT HERE


my friend called me from behind

the bushes, “Cissy! C’mere! Now!”

and I remembered the mushrooms in my pocket

they had me there for life

and I faded like the wind. So fast.

And the policewoman disappeared. I don’t know where she went.

I think I have may have to throw up again

over there maybe behind that statue of Thomas Jefferson.

Atar Hadari trained as an actor then won a scholarship to study poetry and playwrighting with Derek Walcott at Boston University. His SONGS FROM BIALIK: SELECTED POEMS of H. N. BIALIK” (Syracuse University Press) was a finalist for the American Literary Translators’ Association Award and his debut collection, REMBRANDT’S BIBLE, was published by Indigo Dreams in 2013. LIVES OF THE DEAD: POEMS of HANOCH LEVIN” was recently awarded a Pen Translates 2016 grant and is forthcoming from Arc Publications in 2017. He contributes a monthly verse bible translation column to MOSAIC magazine.