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from THE THIN WALL

Martha Rhodes

Nothing is the thin wall of glass (as thin as skin)
just over there. I think if I look at that woman’s shoes,
coated in hardened mud—and if I calculate
the weight that this playground supports right now,
all the dirt, dogs, benches, swing sets, and if I count
from memory the freckles on my mother’s arms and face—
I might forget about the one who wakes me by screeching
into my brain that Nothing grabs us all, good or bad, boy,
girl popular, un-, you. I also think that my ability
to become misplaced, to take a few steps away and find myself
in someone’s poppy garden, or in the frozen aisle at the market,
or hovering at the ceiling of my sister’s bedroom in Thomaston
looking down at her asleep—lost, upside down, turned-around-unableto-
navigate-lost—so far might have . . . I believe . . . kept me

Common Prayer

Brandon Kreitler

And so, shipwrecked—though I hadn’t left the house—I began

to list the things I knew. There was, for example, the airstrip.

And the oil slick. The strip mall. The foundry. The drain line.

Also: The woodpile. The rusted gate. The waste river.

And I paused, feeling good about the fullness of my experience,

what I knew of being alive, the comfort of my salvaged chair.

Then the world came flooding back: Blessed be the waterpark.

The swap meet. Its parking lot. This Kool-Aid pouch.

The faithlessness of men. The valley, verdant and free.

My Body Is a Great Electrical Conductor, but Don’t Tell Zeus That

Sarah Blake

How many times have I had sex and not had a child?
I loved a man who grew sick and died thinking us at war.
And I guess we were. And—except—he was not thinking.
Do I often consider a thought by if it can linger, remain?

Remember, don’t tell Zeus.

When this man was wearing a shirt covered in triangles,
I saw letters. I said when a woman was wearing a shirt.
I said when anyone. I said when a man is not wearing—

I said don't tell Zeus.

I feel less turned on seeing a naked man than when I see
two people kissing. Do you think about war? Does your
desire overwhelm you? I'm too aware. That man is too
dead. All the children I didn't have, more than dead.

My body best at electrical conduction, and yet, I don't ask that of it.

Siebenundvierzig

Anthony Madrid

Siebenundvierzig. What’s that to me.
Tabor for sackbut and panic for joy.
When that I was and a tiny little boy,—
Spare me your sparrow’s tears.

Siebenundvierzig. Reel in the years.
The floor, the ceiling, the window, the wall.
The relatives willingly promise you all
That the cat leaves in the malt heap.

Siebenundvierzig. Losing some sleep.
Sisal and this’ll suffice for a rope.
Osprey drops into Seattle, comes up
With a fish in its fish-hook feet.

Siebenundvierzig. Here’s your receipt,
Mediocrity, self-satisfaction, and vehemence.
This is that mind-reading, I’m-sicking-demons-
On-my-enemies style of Buddhism.

Siebenundvierzig. Me and the moon,
We’re gonna patch up our differences soon.
A Voice from the Unfathomable said with a boom:
Agree, for the law is costly.

From CHINA LAKE

In partnership with University of Iowa Press, The Iowa Review is honored to present this excerpt from Barret Baumgart's China Lake, winner of the 2016 Iowa Prize for Literary Nonfiction, out in May 2017. For additional reading, Guernica published another excerpt of Baumgart's book.

from THE THIN WALL

Common Prayer

My Body Is a Great Electrical Conductor, but Don’t Tell Zeus That

Siebenundvierzig

From CHINA LAKE

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