Cover

Masthead

Susan Deer Cloud:
Playing Marbles


Dan Nowak:
A Return to the Past After History Failed Me


Katie Hartsock:
The Sun Does Not Rise, We Turn To It


Naomi Glassman:
Miles until Michigan


Michael Keshigian:
Landlord


Andrew Terhune:
The Rabbits of Chicago Wait Only for Me


Mel Sarnese:
Family Reunion


David W. Landrum:
Jugville, USA


Todd Heldt:
The Problem with Memory


Tad Richards:
Mittens


Benjamin Russell:
Picasso's Loaves, 1952 (a photograph by Robert Doisneau)


Richard Lighthouse:
activities during meetings


Ryan A. Bunch:
At the Graveyard


Samuel S. Vargo:
Just a Rainy Night in Georgia


Caitlin Ramsey:
Handy


Kyi May Kaung:
Geese


Steve Klepetar:
Kids Today


Steve Trebellas:
Sweet Dimes


Dan Nowak:
Walking Through a Snow Storm is Like Waiting to Call Yourself


Kathleen Boyle:
O Nonni


Katerina Stoykova-Klemer:
Stones


Susan Deer Cloud:
Asthma


Patty Paine:
salt; or the night you left


Kyi May Kaung:
I come from …


Allan Peterson:
My Math


Maw Shein Win:
throwing sparklers at the green mezzanine


Kim Roberts:
Summer Rain


Samuel S. Vargo:
Fotophone


Janice D. Rubin:
Interstate 5


Patrick Loafman:
An Idiot's Guide to the Blue Cat


Saeed Jones:
Eve on Top


Jean Tupper:
Gisela, my friend …


Michael Spring:
Leaving Belfast


Ryan A. Bunch:
Annual Toads


Katie Hartsock:
Leaving the Forest


Contributors
Volume One Issue Two

Michael Keshigian

Landlord

The tenants left him a bar of soap, two rolls of toilet paper, shredded paper towels, and a ripped sponge mop with bucket. He tried to rub the white wall clean, discovered it was impossible, realized they had tried as well. He decided to paint it over. Hair choked the bathroom sink, long hairs, male and female, they both wore ponytails, short of acid, nothing else would work. The hardwood floor wore rubber scuffs and high heel turns, no doubt they had danced and laughed, but only a broom had swept it clean. He began to know who they were, seldom did he speak to them, the check always arrived in the mail. They breezed through, a great wind, leaving behind a trail of dirt, a thank you of sorts, the residual continuity of broken leases and painstaking interviews. He seized their soap, a green veined, marbled bar, curved like a woman, took a bath after he cleaned the tub, and dried with no towel, in the air with the walls and floors.





Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published by Glass Poetry Press. All contents © the author.