To Mend Small Children by B.C. Edwards

“If you like to be spooked by poems, if you like poems to send you back into your quotidian existence with a more acute sense of its weirdness and charm, read “How to Mend Small Children” carefully. Edwards’ poems offer solutions to bizzaro problems and alchemic transmogrifications for exotic items, but their miraculous nature really lies in the way they transform the person who reads them. Prepare to visit a dimension that is weird, dark, funny and eerily similar to the one in which we live.” ~Ben Mirov

From the Archive with Ray DeJesús

From the Archives of the Dancer-cum-Singer-cum-Actress Recreation Project in Progress

as is an undone bow-tie dipped in a well of M.L. Ciccone’s
antiseptic pomade for brunettes
gone blonde genteel.

From the Archives of the Great PotamkinBlowout

The stretched pleather gloves reach to the Peconic of yr
lap like Cadillac


Kindly that she endures
an uproarious Cantiflas


From the Archives of the Case of the State of Florida vs. State of Florida

an argyle


why does the hunter follow with
delta airline


Ray DeJesús was born, raised, and still resides inBrooklyn,NY. A first generation Nuyorican, Ray is a graduate of The New School (MFA, Poetry, May 2010), and he currently teaches writing atSt.FrancisCollege.  He has had the privilege of reading at the following: 169 Bar, Rose Live Music for the Earshot Reading Series, The New School Faculty/Student reading (May 2010), Cornelia Street Café, and Flying Object inHadley,Massachusettswith the fine folk at Maggy Poetry Magazine. His poetry has been published in The Best American Poetry’s Blog, Maggy Poetry Magazine (Issue 2), and Literary Chaos. Poems in G(o)BBet magazine (UK), Gondola Journal, Peaches and Bats Journal, and an essay on Hüsker Dü in Jackie Clark’s Song of the Week are forthcoming. Ray was also guest blogger for Best American Poetry, June 22-28. He can usually be found shielding his ears from the awful, shrill sound of church bells on a daily basis in his neighborhood of Bay Ridge,Brooklyn. Ray is currently working on a collaboration: A chapbook long project with poet Christine Kanownik. In addition, he, along with Jeff T. Johnson and Claire Donato, produce Vampiros Documentos Presents, a video online journal. His current mantra: Sometimes things is just things.

4 Poems by Sharmila Cohen

Augury likes to think of Telephone as our sister journal. Therefore, it is our honor to present 4 very small poems by one of the co-editors today!


4 Poems

The iron gates kept us out of the city
for weeks. When we finally broke through,
giant moths burst from the chimneys of every home.
When the sky cleared, our eyes burned
and all sight of the present was lost.
We are following the horn-tips
through the wilderness. Someone will be cursed
on behalf of goats. The walking stick broke
and scrambled down the mountain. This appeared
to be a prophecy. A fainting spell.
A mandatory sleep.
We galloped through the tunnels and tunnels led
to more tunnels. Sometimes fires would light
on the path ahead. During that era,
we were made of water. Those of us who evaporated
returned fully-formed in the cold evening.
The expedition failed
when someone tripped over a crate
of dead birds. We covered the body in feathers,
but blood could not be stopped. A dark trail
of wings rivered around the campsite.

Sharmila Cohen lives in Brooklyn. She is a graduate of The New School’s M.F.A. program and co-editor of Telephone, a translation-based poetry journal. Her work can also be found in Harper’s Magazine, The Cortland Review, Shampoo, and Juked, among other places.