Stan
Gabrielle DeMarre


There is a duo-tone picture of you on a plastic mug that sits on a shelf in my parents’ house. You’re wearing a coon-skin hat, which makes you look even more like a Waltons cameo than you already do with your ZZ Top beard. I remember you sitting in a chair at your kitchen table, insisting that your dog is actually a turtle. You were always in that chair. I never actually saw you anywhere else until I saw you in a casket. And your body didn’t look like you—nothing like the picture on the mug—so I didn’t really believe it until I saw your chair empty.


GABRIELLE DEMARRE is a Twin Cities native who recently graduated from Concordia University, St. Paul with a degree in English. She loves words and all things related, including reading, writing, talking, and the Oxford English Dictionary.

:: ABOUT :: ISSUES :: SUBMISSIONS :: NEWS ::

ISSUE :: 3 ::


Chad Redden :: Growing Up Baptist
   
Sherri Marilena
Pauli
::
Translations in Rainstorms on Salt Flats
   
Megan Kennedy :: Afraid
   
Jenni Lord :: Five paintings
   
Steve Subrizi :: Migrating to Portland
  Backstroke
   
Ben Segal :: Tell It Again From Your Mouth
   
Russ Februaryy :: I Put My Fingers In Your Eyes
   
Elizabeth
Glixman
::
American Cats Are Overweight Studies Suggest
  Why Did Frankee Stein Become A Free Market Capitalist?
   
Nick Sturm :: The Fences
  Three erasures
   
Andrew K.
Peterson
::
Language, An Actress
  Steve McQueen’s Lines in The Blob
   
Rich Ives :: Anatomy Lesson
   
Gabrielle
DeMarre
::
Stan
   
Kristen E.
Nelson
::
Song of Praise
i. Him One
  Song of Praise
ii. Him Two
  Song of Praise
iii. Him Three
  Yvette
   
Acquanetta
M. Sproule
::
A Nursery Rhyme
   

Homage to the Strange Spirits

Hannah Weiner ::  Excerpts from
Astral Visions and Weeks