Dotted Line Dotted Line

Poetry Fall 2013    fiction    all issues


Chris Joyner
Wrestlemania III
& other poems

Carey Russell
Visiting Hours
& other poems

Marc Pietrzykowski
Cabinet of Wonders
& other poems

Jonathan Travelstead
Prayer of the K-12
& other poems

Jennifer Lowers Warren
Our Daughter's Skin
& other poems

Jeff Burt
The Mapmaker's Legend
& other poems

Patricia Percival
Giving in to What If
& other poems

Toni Hanner
& other poems

Christopher Dulaney
& other poems

Suzanne Burns
Window Shopping
& other poems

Katherine Smith
Mountain Lion
& other poems

Peter Kent
Surliness in the Green Mountains
& other poems

William Doreski
Gathering Sea Lavender
& other poems

Huso Liszt
Fresco, The Forlorn Virgin...
& other poems

Clifford Hill
How natural you are
& other poems

R. G. Evans
& other poems

David Kann
Dead Reckoning
& other poems

Ricky Ray
The Music of As Is
& other poems

Tori Jane Quante
Creatio ex Materia
& other poems

G. L. Morrison
Baba Yaga
& other poems

Joe Freeman
In a Wood
& other poems

George Longenecker
Bear Lake
& other poems

Benjamin Dombroski
South of Paris
& other poems

Ryan Kerr
& other poems

Josh Flaccavento
Glen Canyon Dam
& other poems
& other poems

Christine Stroud
& other poems

Abraham Moore
Inadvertent Landscape
& other poems

Chris Haug
Cow with Parasol
& other poems

Mariah Blankenship
Fiberglass Madonna
& other poems

Emily Hyland
The Hit
& other poems

Sam Pittman
Growth Memory
& other poems

Alex Linden
The Blues of In-Between
& other poems

Bobby Lynn Taylor
& other poems

D. Ellis Phelps
Five Poems

Alia Neaton
Cosmogony I
& other poems

Elisa Albo
Each Day More
& other poems

Noah B. Salamon
& other poems

Writer's Site

Jennifer Lowers Warren

Our Daughter’s Skin

He left for Tikrit when milk,

not language, was pooling

in our daughter’s mouth.

A drowsy suckle.

He is prepared for saw-scaled vipers

and scorpions curled

in the toe of his no-shine boots

but not her dialogue.

She is sand skinned

and camel haired,

everything glistening.

He’s seen the underside of baby shine,

dark grit, bodies turned inside out.

He knows her skin is just casing

and beautiful features are

just pieces, ground sausage.

Tightly packed.

Easily scattered.

God’s Hips

I have hips like God’s.

Ample and unbroken,

a thick sway.

Children slopped out of me

and into cupped hands like

yolks slipping, shell to bowl.

God gave birth too,

oceans and continents crowning.

Stars fell from his strained divinity

like tears. He sweated light.

Thighs spread. Elasticity tested.

Omnipotence intact.

Operation Iraqi Freedom

After an IED they search

and wager,

comparing body parts,

one against the other.

My husband finds the

biggest chunk—

five hundred for the face.

They favor circumference

over length.

Eve Hitchhikes in Hawaii

I pick her up at Haleiwa Beach Park,

home to the North Shore hungry.

She carries a plastic bag

full of strawberry guavas

and three cigarettes,

half smoked and stubbed for later.

A conservationist.

She reaches into the backseat,

touches the inside of my daughter’s ankle,

legs turned out in sleep.

She whispers,

“Soft like Abel, Cain’s toes.”

We talk about spearfishing

for Ulua and trapping the feral pigs

that rut along the ridgeline trails.

She leans deep into the floorboard

and pulls her shirt up,

showing me her coral scarred back.

Then rising with a smile,

crooks both arms against her body

as if still nursing

both brothers.

Eve’s Response

“Well I met him under the tree while Adam was wallowing

in his dreams of God and the grass.

I was bored, Adam was oblivious and He was handsome.

He tongued my innocence.

I was an eternity too young to know the difference

between the systematic tick on the clitoris

and the slow tap of someone knocking

against the wall of my heart.

I sucked syrupy mangos from his fingers and went back to Adam

with the juice still on my lips.”

Jennifer Lowers Warren has published poetry in Rhino, Nerve Cowboy, and Literary Mama. She lives near a military base somewhere in the world for the next ten years.

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