Issue 6

                                                                                                                                                       Gnostic Acrostic                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          At four, having exhaled my name in the grass,                                                       bare-bellied, down in a crawl I called,                                                       called until syllables collided, spawned                                                       Doubt–dim doula of all labors lost, all                                                       endgames, griefs–and she caught me fallen,                                                        fallen from my name, slipped from my second skin.                                                       Ghosts of me tumbled to green where Christine                                                       had hovered–then Chris–now […]