Hi hello good morning. This issue's theme: ALMOST. Enjoy~

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Thank You For Your Interest by Sleve McDichael

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades by D’Quiche

A rusty shape lay in the dirt
In a paddock by a house
That had just been bought
Site unseen

The one-time wearer
Of that piece of footwear
Stood nearby
Grazing thoughtfully

That shoe
Forged so carefully
Thrown so carelessly
Can catch luck
Or spill it

The one-time rider
Of the one-time wearer
Of that piece of footwear
Had almost saved up enough

To buy that house
Site seen
Site known
Site loved

But like so many others
That dream was blown apart
By a parasite unseen
Microscopic shrapnel

The one-time home
Of the one-time rider
Of the one-time wearer
Of that piece of footwear
Receded into the distance
In the rearview mirror of the moving van

Because almost only counts
In horseshoes and hand grenades

Kind of almost there by Cara

Near Rhyme by AZ

Beside blankets at a wedding,
we started without a precedent;
she asked about the 'ulu on my mask,
her interest evident.

I dusted off my conversation skills
(hello, adrenaline)
and asked her for her number when we parted
(I wasn’t hesitant).

Sick with isolation,
congregation was our medicine—
heart on her kimono sleeve,
which she slipped off as accelerant.
An opal moon rose,
we read prose, she waxed eloquent.
Felt like we could lay in bed
‘til we turned into skeletons.

Beach and redwood hikes,
though the kitchen was our element.
Mayo on her tacos—
real good, but far from Mexican—
cross-legged on my porch,
pork belly and eggs benedict.
Told me, “add milk 'til
the Tazo matches my melanin.”

But things devolved when her first love
became engaged in Lebanon;
our perspectives still rarely varied,
but now our main objectives did.
We talked through our mamas,
our traumas, and our developments;
differences (for instance: ages),
once irrelevant, were now an elephant.
I considered going solo,
or limboing as friends with benefits,
and stopped calling her cariño,
though I still felt affectionate.

She called me before coming over
and we agreed on a settlement:
one last night of making love
(and sushi) for the hell of it.
I returned Rilke and Alice Walker
but the surfboard was mine indefinite.
For five months we rhymed;
briefly aligned;
in our search for resonance.

Shelf by Aaron

My ghost opens all the doors outside
The wind fills in
I see my nakedness under the glass, animal knees
Do you still love him
Chin shied down
Kissed my collar
Big toe rubbing achilles
He would say things to fight
Do you hear that
A door opened
The ghost was inside
So close it was almost real
And so it was
She sat up
Can I put something on
Otis fell through the sky
Our ceiling
Not for us
And we listened in our privacy
Her and me and my ghost and hers, who that meant to me, who mine meant to her, and you