• Publisher’s Message
  • Contributors
  • Poetry
  • Fiction
  • Non-Fiction
  • Gallery
  • Archive
  • Ruin

     

    All the dusty caves of

    Sundays

    connecting like Westerns

    on stormy afternoons

    of television macaroni

    and cheese

    to keep me company

    while your will in the other room

    ironing your dress

    flat, your back

    poured into it

    like a jack hammer

    vacuuming

    siphoning all your

    yesterdays

    I cracked the icy steps

    no one else could

    discovering

    beneath the foot worn stones

    my will

    eyeing it cautiously

    for signs

    of fakery.

    We ate cakes on Monday

    marzipan and jam

    soft and pliable as joy.

    I got through all those Tuesdays

    with the trains trampling the night

    like lost

    dogs down the wynd.

    About The Author

    Erika Donald

    Erika Donald

    Erika Donald holds an M.A. in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. Her writing has appeared in Faultline, Palooka, the East Bay Express, Nibble, and Caliope. Her essay about working at an Internet call center “Let me speak to a supervisor!” was voted one of the top ten articles of the year by AlterNet in 2001. She currently works in Information Security and Policy at UC Berekeley. She divides her time between Berkeley and Guerneville, California. When not riding her bike with her wife through beautiful Sonoma vineyards, she enjoys excellent wines, kayaking on the Russian River and playing with her two fabulous cats.