Dear Flying Island Readers: Welcome to the 3.29 Edition of the Flying Island Journal! In this edition we publish poems by Edie Meade , Ken Honeywell , and David Garrison and creative nonfiction by Sarah Powley . Inspired to send us your fiction, poetry, or creative nonfiction? For more info on how to submit, see the tab above. Thank you for reading, Flying Island Editors and Readers
Nocturne i. My son wanted all evening all evenings in fall to sit with me on the porch. He wanted a bubble bath wanted to make Uno cards from scratch though I was so tired wanted pistachio pudding without the nuts. Snakes and ladders popcorn each unconsummated kernel accounted for and time on the stove clock the microwave clock daring to be different squared. Then when it was time he wanted to sit on the porch lay his head in my lap kick pillows off the futon he broke. I don’t remember what I wanted. I remember the weight of him his head on my stomach a pregnancy’s ghost and us rising and falling together like ship and sea. ii. 2:35 a.m. a young man screams in the street plaintive enunciated “Ouch!” an icicle piercing the top of my head. Ouchouch help help Mom helphelp oh ouch oh MOM MOM Where is my son is the Buick out front did he make it home has he been shot stabbed cupping his own intestines did he not pay the wrong person has he done it himself with