ISSUE THIRTEEN: Ye, Smelly Tsar | next poem →

Vision at a Dublin Airport Hotel

Deirdre O'Connor

Growls the child: I'm a man, I make the dark, as she lurches, bear-like,
in a party dress, paws framing her face, and is gone.
Boys dash past in suits trailing balloons though the dark bar
to the bright lobby. Things feel fake in specific ways, like Christmas plastics.
I have a vision of the future as a reception that never ends, a slim bride
growing plump, a groom downing a pint then rolling up his sleeves, baring his teeth
while she gazes down at her phone. Men come up to the husband
and women to the wife, so much winter white it feels like a hospital,
a fake hospital, spray-tans and grand-aunts in feathered hats,
it feels like fake society pages, it feels like a monarch is coming,
like another country has gotten married to the wrong man,
and all the pale children are running around like animals
with the same teeth, and walls muffle everything beyond them.

Deirdre O'Connor's book, Before the Blue Hour, received the Cleveland State Poetry Prize. Her work has appeared in Poetry, Cave Wall, Crazyhorse, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, and other journals. She directs the Writing Center at Bucknell University, where she also serves as Associate Director of the Bucknell Seminar for Undergraduate Poets.

ISSUE THIRTEEN: Ye, Smelly Tsar | next poem →


Ashanti Anderson

Alan Elyshevitz
   BLDG A, STE 4-22

Deidre O’Connor
   Vision at a Dublin Airport Hotel

Claire Scott
   The Morning After

Daniel Lasell
   Above What's Under

Chey Davis
   The Indictment

Hilary Sideris

John Rodzvilla
   Then Bring It Double (12 & 35)

Kathleen McClung
   After the Election

Matthew W. Schmeer
   Disturbing the Peace

Mark Cunningham