By Eleanor Levine
I want pumpkin pie
and luscious small talk,
not opera breaking a glass;
martinis splattering;
everyone in flight while I
remain alone; blinking
stares: the way it is with
boys taking meat cleavers
to my feet so they turn
inward.
About the Author
Eleanor Levine’s writing has appeared in more than 130 publications, including New World Writing Quarterly, the Evergreen Review, The Hollins Critic, Gertrude, and the Maryland Literary Review. Her poetry collection, Waitress at the Red Moon Pizzeria, was published by Unsolicited Press (Portland, Oregon). Her short story collection, Kissing a Tree Surgeon, was published by Guernica Editions (Toronto, Ontario, Canada).
Untitled by Shae Meyer
About the Artist
Shae Meyer was born in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains in Boulder, CO. He studied at the University of Colorado, where he received his BFA in Printmaking. He moved to New York City and began working in studios producing large scale paintings in the Hudson River style, while developing his own processes. His work engages questions concerning objectivity, subjectivity, and individuality within the context of environment. Incorporating materials discarded and overlooked, he examines whether these have intrinsic value, or prescribed value based on their use. By pulverizing these objects, they often lose their natural form, and become hidden in the depths of a painting, becoming a part of the larger whole, an element within a larger context. For Meyer, these materials become an allegory for the value of an individual person, examining if somebody is more than merely the sum of their parts, or perhaps; are all these parts the same. Wondering constantly whether he is a big part of something small, or a small part of something big, or perhaps nothing at all.