Andrew Hemmert
Accidental Prayer

Andrew Hemmert - Accidental Prayer

Poetry
Andrew Hemmert is a sixth-generation Floridian living in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Bat City Review, Iron Horse Literary Review, Mid-American Review, North… Read more »
John Sibley Williams
Birds of Prey

John Sibley Williams - Birds of Prey

Poetry
John Sibley Williams is the author of As One Fire Consumes Another (Orison Poetry Prize, 2019), Skin Memory (Backwaters Prize, University of Nebraska Press, 2019), Disinheritance, and Controlled… Read more »
Robert Hahn
Called Back

Robert Hahn - Called Back

Poetry
Robert Hahn is a poet, translator, and essayist. The poem in this issue, “Called Back,” is from his new manuscript, a narrative sequence of poems entitled Afterlife. Five books of his poetry have… Read more »
Rick Mulkey
Mingo County Men

Rick Mulkey - Mingo County Men

Poetry
Rick Mulkey is the author of five books and chapbooks, including Ravenous: New & Selected Poems, Toward Any Darkness, Bluefield Breakdown, and Before the Age of Reason. Previous and current work… Read more »
Angela Voras-Hills
On Earth as It Is in Heaven

Angela Voras-Hills - On Earth as It Is in Heaven

Poetry
Angela Voras-Hills lives with her family in Milwaukee, WI. Her first book, Louder Birds (Pleiades 2020), was chosen by Traci Brimhall for the Lena-Miles Wever Todd Poetry Prize. Other poems have… Read more »
Marc Alan Di Martino
Runaway

Marc Alan Di Martino - Runaway

Poetry
Marc Alan Di Martino grew up in the suburbs of Baltimore, Maryland. His work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Rattle, The New Yorker, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Verse-Virtual, Palette Poetry, and… Read more »

Accidental Prayer

Andrew Hemmert

Maybe you’re not dead, just dead-tired.
I understand you, heavenly father,
with your feet up on the universe
and a bottle of entropy
or unfiltered time leaving a ring
on the cover of some book you bought
thinking surely you will read this
on your days off, but now
you’re too exhausted to do anything
except text your old friends
who live now in different cities,
or is it galaxies?
It feels like it’s been years because it has.
And you say to yourself
at least this job, being everything,
is better than the last one,
which was being nothing.
I want to ask if it was anything
like my last job,
bolting calipers onto axles
in a factory that felt like it went on forever,
all piercing lights and safety glasses
and cement floors
gravity crushed us against like chalk.
Maybe you don’t text at all
because it feels too much
like waiting for prayers to arrive,
which is work.
In any case, I admit I miss the feeling
of… Read more »