Philoctetes at the Physio

By U. S. DHUGA 

 

No compunction, my physiotherapist

Exits, kale juice in hand, the Raw Chemist

 

With the swagger of a Neoptolemus

Who will lie to me, to you, to all of us

 

For the sake of winning what he mythifies

As our battle. I watch him pause, flex his thighs,

 

Draw a single, surreptitious Pall Mall

(Menthol-filtered) from his Nike carryall.

 

I tighten the brace back round my ankle

Wondering if and when we’re setting sail.

 

Today the greaved pain is barely bearable.

Not so my personnel.

 

[Purchase Issue 13 here]

U. S. Dhuga’s new book is The Sight of a Goose Going Barefoot.

 

Julia PikePhiloctetes at the Physio

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Friday Reads: June 2017

We love any excuse to hear from our contributors! This month, our Issue 13 authors and poets tap into their literary communities as they recommend works by colleagues, friends, and Pulitzer Prize winners. United in their affection, the authors are nonetheless divided by their selections, as their choices shed light upon nowhereness, colonization, and Florida oranges.

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MEGAN FERNANDES
Once in a car, a good boy / shook me hard. If you like it / that way in bed, then why are you… / the tiny bruises on my arms / where his prints pressed into my pink/ sleeves rose to the surface like rattles. / Like requests. They thrived there / for a week until they settled /