Dear Dissolution

The thin glass of the old window is vibrating with wing
flutter from the snarled nest of Christmas trimming and
dry weed wedged above the frame.

Dutiful comings and goings are transmitting these small
shock waves. Mornings I return to the wadded tangles of
my fears lit by the same light.

It seems as though there ought to be window that opens on,
now, the doves their earnest interrogations. Other birds
their mad warbling and plaintive whistles usher in anxiety.

Sleep is where I fabricate the fables that emerge in furtive
scrapology. Perhaps it is unreasonable to expect remedy
their wispy tissues have only random fears and stray

incidents to work with, a necessarily short attention span.
I never wake to the same water. Every morning its aspect
alters. I have a longing for vast open sea, the sky full of

brilliant stars, scenes from one or more movie memories.
Whale sharks and bio-luminescent creatures making their
lovely arabesques beneath my frail raft of bone,

in the cool syrup of shared chemical composition. What a
shame my infinite nature is only molecular. There are so
many others I would with this consciousness be.

The morning smells like seagull shit and fried eggs. The
morning smells like cedar chips and clove. The morning
smells like sea brine and wild roses.



Aholaah Arzah received her MFA in Creative Writing from Goddard. Her poems, essays, short fiction and visuals have appeared in Short, Fast and Deadly, Typishly, Crab Creek Review, elimae, Paper Tape, The Bellingham Review and ARC. Read her short story Images of You on Typishly. Her essay “Ring Cycle” received Longshot Magazine’s feature award. She lives in Port Townsend, Washington.



The Bottle

By James Miller / 08/23/2018

Our Souls Refracted Through a Mesh

By Kevin McGowan / 09/10/2018

The Year the Colors Changed

By Siobhan Tebbs / 08/27/2018

Commonly Held Beliefs About Lesbians and Other Commonly Held Beliefs

By Nikki Smith / 09/18/2018

When the Crows Spoke Only Once

By Benjamin Mark / 09/10/2018