Windward Review Vol 21 (2023): Myths and Hauntings

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Ace Boggess Invitation First in a year, to entertain strangers, a public appearance— pandemic still a stifling mist. I miss people though they frighten me, have since before the virus set out on its epic quest to kiss every pair of lips on Earth. What can I say but yes? Not to read my verses, that erotic act I love to share with others, but to write instant poems at a street fair hosted by the laureate. Place me there, a mask on top of the mask I’ve worn, the one that swears I’m human. Needle pricks will have vanished from my arm by then, chances of death diminishing daily, chances of life igniting. 84
Liam Leslie My Piety. And Their Portraits. Dry, sterile moments find my mind mulling the modern spaces we live in. Images of tiresome apartments come and go in predictable shapes, sizes, and colors. My memory rolls the uniform tape. Morning drives display ready-make fragments, that by the same dusk, are assembled and occupied by the equally hurried. They are listed as “Move-In Ready”. And every time they come to market, blissful exaggeration follows. Always a grand and animated production. The commercial processions mark, occasion, and breed expectation. They celebrate the new. I remember my own tours. Routined, smartly dressed, and orderly extroverts invariably preside. Casually outfitting their most solicitous smile, parading around, noting this spec and that feature. Fully furnished—crisp white paint—wet, static smell latched to the air—fresh lightbulbs humming LED raw—stainless-steel appliances glistening—paper thin walls—”a polite community”— their promise—and “homey, in due time”. Those. Those are not the small, sharp margins of existence in which I may nestle. There. There I cannot find the ethereal touches. There, piety, reverence, and loyalty are void. In those sterile spaces, I find no pleasantly frail, humbly purposed, buttercream-colored cushions with soft floral embroidery. The ones bare of plastic keeping them from the time, the wooden chairs, and the guests that sit on them. The ones that have seen the seats, smiles, and strife of family. I find no old-as-shit antique lamps, no dusty, cultured curtains, and no portraits of familiar people I have never met. I enter a proper home. The one of my grandparents, and I accept the breath of something more. I respire those lingering smells of ageless and mingled odors. Banal days of before anchor quietly here. My senses move through both past and present at the same time, the composite of 85
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Myths and Hauntings Windward Review
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Senior Executive Editor Dr. Robin C
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Roy Gomez A Wooden Castle .........
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Letter of Gratitude from the Managi
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Chloe Rodriguez My Mother Teaches M
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Chloe Rodriguez Elegy as a Caja Chi
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Chloe Rodriguez Please, Don’t Rem
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Samantha Caudillo Mariela A car dro
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“Luis told me he saw you with the
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Elijah X.A. Esquivel The Spines of
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Eylie Sasajima the wych elm’s lul
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Julieta Corpus Prescience There is
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finite loop of park road brought us
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to grow. Now the old landing’s na
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“Maybe,” I said. “Her clothes
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“I don’t expect you will be,”
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# We are sailing on a river of dark
Page 36 and 37: Amanda King Roommates Alone I am ev
Page 38 and 39: To make my own skin soft to the tou
Page 40 and 41: Ellianna Nejat Giant Fleas There wa
Page 42 and 43: Thomas Piekarski Birth of Mars I ye
Page 44 and 45: shades, and stores of Earth’s spl
Page 46 and 47: APPENDIX Lines 1-7, Line 71 :: [Met
Page 48 and 49: Kathleen Naderer A Forsaken City-St
Page 50 and 51: Unlike his sister, in his death he
Page 52 and 53: fires floated across its surface. B
Page 54 and 55: light blazed around him here, too,
Page 56 and 57: involved, he was the only one tryin
Page 58 and 59: so much more. We never should have
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Page 62 and 63: “And you know better than any wha
Page 64 and 65: Roy Gomez A Wooden Castle A blast o
Page 66 and 67: Steve Brisendine Liberal, Kansas, w
Page 68 and 69: Steve Brisendine Kansas City Which
Page 70 and 71: Steve Brisendine The Maybe-Ghost of
Page 72 and 73: Emily Clemente Those Birds In those
Page 74 and 75: Sandy Allison’s mother picked out
Page 76 and 77: crammed room in the back of the chu
Page 78 and 79: it was starting to get dark outside
Page 80 and 81: 78 ___ The last time I ever saw San
Page 82 and 83: I can see her again like I am thirt
Page 84 and 85: Ace Boggess Slow Down 1. Dr. Fauci
Page 88 and 89: normalcy, of domesticity. I walk co
Page 90 and 91: Natasha Santana Loving He Walked Al
Page 92 and 93: Lighting lotus boats on the night o
Page 94 and 95: Bonnie Stump an open grave i. dimly
Page 96 and 97: I am always looking at light and th
Page 98 and 99: Laurence Musgrove It’s Nothing To
Page 100 and 101: Mellow, tart, and dark, and dead, a
Page 102 and 103: Tina Lentz-McMillan By Its Name, a
Page 104 and 105: Tina Lentz-McMillan Deal With God Y
Page 106 and 107: the sacred comes in the breath of y
Page 108 and 109: So Marshal Purcell of Texline and C
Page 110 and 111: That her mother would drive to DFW
Page 112 and 113: “I am ready,” said Mrs. Brill.
Page 114 and 115: Willie waited and waited. The séan
Page 116 and 117: Lorraine Caputo Pa’ Barquisimeto
Page 118 and 119: Lorraine Caputo Tropical Storms Whe
Page 120 and 121: Who the fuck are you? November 26th
Page 122 and 123: Alexandra Shimalla It’s the Littl
Page 124 and 125: to get done—laundry, clean shower
Page 126 and 127: ain. I lived in university housing
Page 128 and 129: 11. For years, I refused to read ab
Page 130 and 131: Alyssa Liney Pruitt Disorders Depre
Page 132 and 133: Delaney McLemore Two Grams In my fa
Page 134 and 135: was no earth heavy enough to hold h
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“I had a heart attack, baby.” H
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Liesel Hamilton Dementia Zoom Call
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Brianna Sandoval The Tree’s Shado
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Janet: It was our sixth date, and w
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INT. Living Room-Evening - Three Mo
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Did you mean it? (Carrie looks at J
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Elizabeth N. Flores Mama and the Do
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We’ll clean his collection of cal
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But I did everything they told me t
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Daunte Gaiter In Loving Memory You
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KeYanla Cleckley Stuck A few years
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The lights flickered with every sec
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It quickly became evident that we c
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ific, and he was loved and well car
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Alena Sandoval A Mother’s Love of
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Nikiphoros Vlastos American Sonnet
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Julieta translated Darklings, a sho
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Liam Leslie: “Great acres of vast
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Alexandra Shimalla is a freelance j
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Windward Review Vol 21 (2023): Myths and Hauntings

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