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quarterly journal of poetic and visual art

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Fall 2008

 

VanBuren's picks:

Susan Slaviero
Christine Swint
Meg Pokrass
Jeff Klooger
Paul Fisher

Featured Artist:

Pauline Lim

Poetry

Jeff Calhoun
C.E. Chaffin
Holly Day
Paul Fisher
Nathan Graziano
Jennifer Jabaily
Jeff Klooger
Joanne Lowery
Karen Neuberg
Meg Pokrass
Doug Ramspeck
Bill Roberts
Shoshauna Shy
Susan Slaviero
Gerald So
Janice D. Soderling
Paul Stevens
Joshua Michael Stewart
Laura Grace Weldon
Teresa White

Flash Fiction

Robert Stastny
Christine Swint
Winter P. Williams


Editors

Jennifer VanBuren
Jai Britton
Patrick Carrington
Alex Nodopaka


Mannequin Envy in memory of poet and artist Douglas Gamrath

 

 

 

Christine Swint

Fall 2008

Coffee Wisdom

Ana from Zagreb waits tables at the Revere Beach Diner, likes men, Jameson’s whiskey, flowered dresses, high heels, beer for breakfast, push-up bras and coffee.

At night in her galley kitchen, under florescent lights, she boils water in a cast-iron pot, dumps in tablespoons of fine espresso and sugar. She leads me to a screened-in porch. New England summer rain thumps on shingles, green cups gleam in candle flames on a glass table.

“I married Dimitri to escape my father, escaped Croatia when they killed Dimitri.

Always leaving. But life in Zagreb was better. More music and dancing, more cafés.”

She turns her cup over on the saucer, reveals a pool of black sludge. “Lot’s of money for me! Now, read my cup. What do you see?”

On the slick ceramic surface rise dark streaks, stalagmites with arms, legs, faces.

“This one is smiling.”

“Good, a man in my life. What else?”

Shadowy figures hover around the cup’s perimeter, tall, short, thick, jagged–waiting to be noticed.

“There are more–”

But Anna doesn’t wait for my reply. “Maybe life here is not so bad. Men, money, whiskey – It’s your turn now. Let’s see what’s in store for you.”

I sip the last of my coffee, stray grains on my tongue, the roof of my mouth. I turn over the cup, wishing for Adonis with mocha skin lounging on the side of a pool. Anna raises a penciled eyebrow.

“Better stay away from stock market.”

She squints at the miniscule flecks remaining in my cup.

“Hang on to your husband too.”

She laughs, shakes her head, while I mull over the blotchy nubs of my fortune. “Maybe you should go to Croatia, ” she says.


 

Bio: Christine Swint studied English and Spanish at the University of Georgia, and Spanish literature at Middlebury College in Spain, where she completed her M.A. She writes poetry, fiction, and personal essays in Spanish and English. She lives in metro Atlanta with her husband, two teenage sons, and two dogs, Raf and Duffy. Her work has been published in various online publications, including Long Story Short, Burst, Tiny Lights, and Postal Poetry.

 

Pauline Lim I Absorb Your Loneliness