Amarillo Bay 
 Volume 17 Number 2 

Welcome to Amarillo Bay!

Something Good To Read
Volume 17 Number 2 — Published 18 May 2015

In addition to the works in this issue — the second issue of our seventeenth year — you can read the 712 works (254 fiction, 85 creative nonfiction, 373 poetry) we have published since 1999. See the Previous Works, including the ability to search through the issues.


Fiction Editor: Richard Moseley Richard Moseley

Richard Moseley is professor emeritus in English at West Texas A&M University who taught literary courses in modern short fiction, film and literature, Southwestern literature, and the contemporary American novel. His degrees are from the University of Texas at Austin (B.A.) and the University of Cincinnati (M.A. and Ph.D.).

Feeding Emma
   by Matt Briggs Matt Briggs

Matt Briggs is the author of eight works of fiction. The Publication Studio in Portland, OR, released his latest books, Virility Rituals of North American Teenage Boys (stories) and a novel (The Double E) in 2013. Briggs' novel, Shoot the Buffalo, was awarded an American Book Award by the Before Columbus Foundation in 2006. Recent work has appeared in MOSS, Bull, The Chicago Review, and MonkeyBicycle. You can find him online at suburgian.com.

Emma's husband, Don, picked Maria up at the airport. When he hugged her, she discovered he gave malingering hugs. What bothered her about his hug wasn't the length or even the whiff of his sweater, a faint odor of pipe tobacco and onions, but the fact that he shifted his weight while holding her so that her breasts squashed against his chest. Also, she didn't recognize Don even though she had seen dozens of pictures of him. He said he was Don, so she figured it must be him. Who else would claim to be him? So what if he doesn't look himself? We all have Photoshop. It wasn't until he was standing in front of her and holding open his arms that she realized he was Emma's Don. This man had the same scruff of reddish fuzz on the upper lip that Don left in his digital photos. A signature. But, it wasn't until Maria and Don came across his car in the airport parking garage that she became struck by the strangeness of her one-day trip to Seattle. She didn't actually know these people.

"You look just like your photo," he said.

The hell I do, she thought. "Thanks," she said. "So do you."

Don's car, frankly, was a shock. Emma and Don weren't complete strangers. She had known them from The Boards of the Web community they belonged to and she had been deeply involved in Emma and Don's decision to move from their cramped condo in Capitol Hill to the suburbs north of the city. She had taken virtual tours with Emma. She had talked about the problems of living so far from the downtown that Emma loved. Emma didn't drive because of a vision problem that had plagued her after a month-long flu she suffered through in her early twenties. Emma suffered, and it was all Maria could do to help her. Of all of Maria's online buddies on The Boards, Emma was the most candid about her weight problems and health problems. In return, Emma could really listen. The pair had spent many late nights in chat.   Continue…

"If You Touch Me, I'll Kill You"—A Guide to Sleeping and Only Sleeping with Women
   by Jason Feingold Jason Feingold

Jason Feingold's work has appeared in the 99 Pine Street literary journal and Allegory and is scheduled to appear in Infernal Ink Magazine in October of this year. He is also contributing to and editing a yet-to-be-named anthology centered around a ruined house, which is scheduled for release in mid-2015. A former teacher, he lives in Henderson, North Carolina, with his wife and son.

1) You come to her.

"Can I help you?" the doorman asks coldly. He does not recognize me, and his unfriendly tone is unmistakably that of someone who intends to do his job and help me find the door again shortly. I expect no less. I'm in the vestibule of a building that fronts Central Park. I've just come from my job as an administrative assistant of a Jewish organization located way the hell uptown, and I'm not dressing for the next job because there is no next job. I have no hope of advancement there, but at least my job is mine as long as I want it. I'm wearing jeans, an army-surplus jacket, a stocking cap, and I'm carrying a frayed gym bag. I am short and crumpled-looking and I could use a shave. It is here that I am most acutely made aware of my shortcomings, by a doorman, no less.

"I'm here to see Jenny," I tell him. "She's expecting me. My name is Arthur Cohen."

His tone softens. All the doormen like Jenny. He still doesn't recognize me, though. "Do you know where her office is?" he asks.

"I've been there before."

"Go ahead up."

"Thanks."

2) She has to be out of your league.

I knock on Jenny's office door and she tells me to come in. She looks good, as good as the day a year ago that my former roommate introduced her to me. He'd dated her briefly, but it didn't last much longer than it took him to get her into bed. It was not nearly as long as my friendship with her.

Jenny always looks good, even behind a desk with most of her small trim body hidden, wearing the glasses we sometimes joke about, the ones that make her look like Thelma from Scooby-Doo. If she's wearing glasses, it's because her allergies are acting up and she can't wear her contacts. She's allergic to just about everything airborne. The fact that I know this is a testament to how well I know her overall.   Continue…

The Last Night of Our Lives
   by Nick Heeb Nick Heeb

Nick Heeb was born in South Dakota. He now lives near the border in New Mexico. This is his first publication.

The Chevelle swerved across the lane of the cracking pavement, rumbled into the parking lot, and came to a barking stop. Bumper Hawkins stretched two long legs out the driver's side door and walked across the gravel parking lot of the drive-in. Violet was at the counter, stabbing a straw at her milkshake, talking to Sarah Kirchenbech. Violet looked at him askance.

Bumper walked beside her and leaned on the wall with a propped elbow. Hey, he said with his head down. Can I talk to you?

I'm standing right here. Go on and talk if you need to.

I meant somewhere else. His eyes shifted to Sarah and then back to Violet. Somewhere alone, just us two, he said.

Violet sighed and handed her milkshake to Sarah. I'll be right back, she said.

She passed Bumper and the scent of her hair made his blood run thin: it was still damp and had been washed with lavender. He followed her to the back of the café and sat in the booth opposite her. He slung an arm up on the rest and looked upon her with worn eyes.

We need to talk about this, he said.

You look terrible, she said. Have you been sleeping?

Violet.

You and all these talks—I can't bear it. You already told me how everything's gonna be. You proclaimed yourself judge, jury, and executioner.   Continue…

On the Way to Lunch
   by Joan Elaine Muller Joan Elaine Muller

Joan Elaine Muller is a short story writer who uses stories to bring to light everyday issues that often hide in the corners of our communities. She taught for ten years in Texas public schools and was a consultant on the literature anthology Elements of Literature. Her short story entitled "Lies" won publication in Austin Chronicle's annual short story contest. Her short story "Humming" was published in Narrative Magazine. She grew up in Dallas and received a master's degree at West Texas A&M University.

The September sun has left the playground scorched, and what little grass is left crackles underfoot. The woman has come out of nowhere and stands crookedly on a patch of playground just outside my portable classroom that's settled away from the main building like a mobile home someone left behind. "Hey teacher!" She holds a brown leather belt coiled up in one hand and shades her eyes with the other. The line of third graders stops halfway across the blacktop. We're on our way to the cafeteria in the main building.

The kids stay in line, their lunch boxes dangling, but turn to look where the yelling is coming from. They're anxious to get into the building, but this is going to be good.

"Jesse's my boy," she yells, pointing at him, with the coil of leather. "If he messes up, you just call me. This is all it takes. You hear me? I'll make him behave." The belt must be four inches wide. She raises her arm and pops the belt on the dry dirt.

The kids jump at the sound and look from the woman to me to Jesse.   Continue…


Creative Nonfiction Editor: Gretchen Johnson Gretchen Johnson

Gretchen Johnson lives in Beaumont, Texas, and works as an English Instructor at Lamar University. Her short stories and poems have appeared in The Blue Bear Review, The Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, Poetry Harbor, Spout Press, The Sow's Ear Poetry Review, and others. She received her Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing from Southwest Minnesota State University and her MFA in Creative Writing from Texas State University. Her first book, The Joy of Deception, was published by Lamar University Press in 2012, and her second book; A Trip Through Downer, Minnesota, was published by Lamar University Press in 2014.

A Brush with Rebellion
   by Armeen Kapadia Armeen Kapadia

Armeen Kapadia is a writer, designer and an artist living in Pune, India. After practicing visual arts for several years, she was drawn to writing. Armeen is also one of the founders of Steta, a writing and language consultancy. "A Brush With Rebellion" is the first of her short stories to be published.

"Is that goat eating a tire?" Mum asked, as we tried to locate the art class.

"Looks like it," I replied, watching the tall, black goat with lanky locks of hair as it was chewing a bicycle tire. It seemed to be in a meditative state, its glazed eyes fixed on something in the distance. We had come to find the art class, the first in a line of many for me.

By the time I was in middle school, my parents and I had come to the same conclusion. I was pretty lousy at the Sciences and Mathematics. I tolerated History and Geography. My only real loves were English and Drawing. I actually did not weep the night before the English exam. I read Wordsworth for fun. Art, Drawing or A-Perfect-Waste-Of-Time, as many people would call it, was not even a subject at my school, yet I practiced it all the time. On Sunday afternoons while the world slept, I covered sheets of paper with mountains, jungles, roads and disproportionate people. The pages of my Math and Chemistry textbooks (my sworn enemies) were covered in little doodles. These drawings were not of flowers, hearts, or ribbons, the usual candidates to adorn teenage girls' books. These drawings were of daggers dripping blood, witches stirring cauldrons, and pistols firing bullets at will. It's amazing how drawing reflects the deep subconscious. The evening before my Physics exam, Mum came to my desk expecting to find me deep in the world of velocity and electricity. I was deep, so deep into 'Chapter 13: Electromagnetism', that I had covered two pages with ice-cream cones. They dripped cream and berries all over the definitions and problems, which was a mighty big improvement on the subject, according to me. Mum sighed, shook her head and left the room. I thought I was in trouble, but instead she enrolled me for an art class. On the first Saturday of the summer vacation, I sharpened my soft lead pencils, packed my erasers, and we headed to Mr. Thakur's Art Academy.   Continue…


Poetry Editor: Katherine Hoerth Katherine Hoerth

Katherine Hoerth is the author of a poetry collection, The Garden Uprooted (Slough Press, 2012). Her work has been included in journals such as Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, BorderSenses, and Front Porch. She teaches literature and creative writing at the University of Texas Pan American and serves as Assistant Poetry Editor of Fifth Wednesday Journal.

Country Crystal
   by Casey Ford Casey Ford

Casey Ford will complete her M.A. in December 2015 at Lamar University, where she also teaches basic writing and freshman composition. Her master's thesis is an opera libretto entitled Mauberly and based on Ezra Pound's biography. Her sonnet series entitled "As Best I Can Recall" recently won the CCTE Texas poetry prize, and she hopes to attend the Sewanee Writer's Conference this summer as a scholarship recipient.

Welch's used to put its jam in jars—
and maybe they still do, I wouldn't know—
the kind that you could wash and use again
as glassware. Country crystal, if you will.
My gran-mere had a set of twenty-four.   Continue…

Six Movements of My Spine
   by Casey Ford Casey Ford

Casey Ford will complete her M.A. in December 2015 at Lamar University, where she also teaches basic writing and freshman composition. Her master's thesis is an opera libretto entitled Mauberly and based on Ezra Pound's biography. Her sonnet series entitled "As Best I Can Recall" recently won the CCTE Texas poetry prize, and she hopes to attend the Sewanee Writer's Conference this summer as a scholarship recipient.

I wanted her to be a ballet dancer.
Three years we made the trip across the bridge;
each time I'd watch her sucking in her breath,
tiny shoes beside her, eyes wide open,
hating me and wanting me to hold
her, too; she was my independent child.

Add to that she was her father's child.
Her toes on his, he taught her how to dance
the two-step, how to lie, and how to hold
bad feelings hostage. So we'd cross the bridge,
the doors of Miss June's studio wide open,
my reluctant ballerina holding her breath.   Continue…

Death: A Love Poem
   by Talon Talon

Talon spent many years publishing under his own name in such journals as Oasis, The MacGuffin, Oxford Journal, Parting Gifts, and several more. Then he left his adopted home of Chicago and wound up teaching and living in Haiti, Honduras, Somaliland, and Brazil. After this hiatus, he has returned to publishing poetry (and his plays!) under the new pseudonym "Talon." "In many ways," he says, "It is like a rebirth."

Before the explosion shattered the city
And the shrapnel sliced us to pieces,
          bequeathing silence and sadness —
What went through the mind of him
With the dynamite strapped to his breast,
closer than God?   Continue…

Heartbreak Hibiscus
   by Steven P. Schneider Steven P. Schneider

Steven P. Schneider is professor of English at the University of Texas-Pan American (UTPA). He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Borderlines: Drawing Border Lives, Unexpected Guests, and Prairie Air Show. His scholarly books on contemporary American poetry include A.R. Ammons and the Poetics of Widening Scope (Fairleigh Dickinson University Press) and a recent collection of edited essays entitled The Contemporary Narrative Poem (The University of Iowa Press.) He is the recipient of three National Endowment for the Arts Big Read grants and a Fellowship from the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation.

The hibiscus flowers
silky and red
like the dresses pretty señioritas
wear at the cantina
in the Casa del Palmas hotel
on a hot summer night.   Continue…

Ski Valley Road
   by Steven P. Schneider Steven P. Schneider

Steven P. Schneider is professor of English at the University of Texas-Pan American (UTPA). He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Borderlines: Drawing Border Lives, Unexpected Guests, and Prairie Air Show. His scholarly books on contemporary American poetry include A.R. Ammons and the Poetics of Widening Scope (Fairleigh Dickinson University Press) and a recent collection of edited essays entitled The Contemporary Narrative Poem (The University of Iowa Press.) He is the recipient of three National Endowment for the Arts Big Read grants and a Fellowship from the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation.

At sunset they drive down the mountain,
Carload after carload,
Their skis piled in their trunks and backseats.
Their bodies are tired from a day on the slopes
But their headlights are turned on,
Their engines burning,   Continue…

A Lesson in Fear
   by Charles McGregor Charles McGregor

Charles McGregor is a twenty-seven year old Florida native. Currently he is teaching at the University of Texas-Pan American while finishing his MFA in Creative Writing. "A Lesson in Fear" is part of a larger work he is working on dealing with body and image issues that he has had to battle with for most of his life. His poetry can be found in modest literary magazines such as Xenith, Enhance, No Infinite, Boundless, Portland Review, and The Missing Slate. Follow him on Twitter @CMcgregor209.

The beach people adored my seven year old body.
They applauded my ribs, my sun tongued white hair.
Rich the Jet Ski Man says it's the tanning that works for him
creating the illusion that he is thinner, but my mirrors were full
of sunshine. I didn't need clouds in front of reflections
scattering the visitors bringing British accents, Brooklyn coffee.   Continue…

Moving Furniture
   by Sharon Discorfano Sharon Discorfano

Sharon Discorfano received her M.A. in Literature from Georgetown University. Her writing has appeared in various poetry and literary magazines, in magazines such as Animal Wellness and VegNews, and online sites such as ASPCA Parents, Animal Legal Defense Fund, and Hills of Africa Travel. She also has published two books: Letters To Pushkin and Stellar Vegan Salads. She currently lives in New York with her husband and dog Galileo. For details about other publications and writing projects, please visit sharondiscorfano.com.

Frilly like a fairy tale complete with a medieval witch:
the white canopy twin bed, this six year-old asked
please place the headboard under the windows
without explaining it's so when those piercing, petrifying
neon green eyes peer into the room
searching in the dark for little children
she will not see the sleeping child right beneath her gaze,
only a desk, always kept tidy, on the opposite wall.

The witch fades from imminent threat to nightmare to
figment of other little kids' imaginations
barely there though never completely scrubbed away
Like the scene of stick figures and sun,
an oil-based makeup coverstick mural by baby brother
that insists on bleeding through coats of paint,
that will bleed through year after year.
A new white canopy, twin traded for full,
A new arrangement, now the headboard hides his artwork;
like later, when strategically placed clothing
conceals scars inevitably accumulated. Until   Continue…

Red Mustang
   by Julie Gates Julie Gates

Julie Gates has directed the English education program at Angelo State University for the past 13 years. Although she is a relatively new poet, her work has been published in Concho River Review, Carcinogenic Poetry, Visions with Voices, and Blue Bonnet Review.

With my steel stiletto spikes spearing the ceiling
of the mid-life crisis car you bought me
(a sugardaddy spouse special)
by the lake where we dumped your charred remains,   Continue…


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Works by Issue

Works are published the first Monday of February, the third Monday of May, the first Monday of August, and the first Monday of November.

2015, Volume 17 Number 4, 2 November 2015 — Future Issue
Number 3, 3 August 2015 — Future Issue
Number 2, 18 May 2015 — Current Issue
Number 1, 2 February 2015
2014, Volume 16 Number 4, 3 November 2014
Number 3, 4 August 2014
Number 2, 19 May 2014
Number 1, 3 February 2014
2013, Volume 15 Number 4, 4 November 2013
Number 3, 5 August 2013
Number 2, 20 May 2013
Number 1, 4 February 2013
2012, Volume 14 Number 4, 5 November 2012
Number 3, 6 August 2012
Number 2, 21 May 2012
Number 1, 6 February 2012
2011, Volume 13 Number 4, 7 November 2011
Number 3, 1 August 2011
Number 2, 16 May 2011
Number 1, 7 February 2011
2010, Volume 12 Number 4, 1 November 2010
Number 3, 2 August 2010
Number 2, 17 May 2010
Number 1, 1 February 2010
2009, Volume 11 Number 4, 2 November 2009
Number 3, 3 August 2009
Number 2, 18 May 2009
Number 1, 2 February 2009
2008, Volume 10 Number 4, 3 November 2008
Number 3, 18 August 2008
Number 2, 19 May 2008
Number 1, 11 February 2008
2007, Volume 9 Number 4, 12 November 2007
Number 3, 6 August 2007
Number 2, 7 May 2007
Number 1, 5 February 2007
2006, Volume 8 Number 4, 6 November 2006
Number 3, 7 August 2006
Number 2, 8 May 2006
Number 1, 6 February 2006
2005, Volume 7 Number 4, 7 November 2005
Number 3, 8 August 2005
Number 2, 2 May 2005
Number 1, 7 February 2005
2004, Volume 6 Number 4, 1 October 2004
Number 3, 2 August 2004
Number 2, 3 May 2004
Number 1, 2 February 2004
2003, Volume 5 Number 4, 3 November 2003
Number 3, 4 August 2003
Number 2, 5 April 2003
Number 1, 3 February 2003
2002, Volume 4 Number 4, 4 November 2002
Number 3, 5 August, 2002
Number 2, 6 May 2002
Number 1, 4 February 2002
2001, Volume 3 Number 4, 5 November 2001
Number 3, 6 August 2001
Number 2, 7 May 2001
Number 1, 5 February 2001
2000, Volume 2 Number 4, 6 November 2000
Number 3, 7 August 2000
Number 2, 1 May 2000
Number 1, 7 February 2000
1999, Volume 1 Number 3, 1 November 1999
Number 2, 2 August 1999
Number 1, 3 May 1999