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      April 8, 2015Lesbians or Exchange StudentsMatt Muth

      What they think of their bag
      of bagels. How they relate
      to it. What convicts playing
      chess, what codger throwing
      bread to gulls. What rumpled
      suit, what Sunday best. How
      the head cradles the hand, how
      the hand sweeps across the face,
      what hex. Check. What rolled
      sleeve, what cold coffee, what
      neglect. What brush, what grace,
      how the fingers plow the lips,
      how the bishop holds his place.
      What grip, what waste. What book,
      what skin, what bird, what rook,
      what nest. Check. What fencepost
      legs, what universe, what dread.
      What’s first, what’s best. How much
      depends on that bag of bagels, that summer dress.
      What word, what mate, what more, what less.

      from #46 - winter 2014

      Matt Muth

      “When I was in 4th grade my teacher asked our class to write a paragraph about what we wanted to be when we grew up, so we did. A lot of girls wanted to be wives, some of the boys wanted to be fighter pilots and engineers, and one kid who didn’t really understand what was going on wrote that he wanted to be a fire truck. I wrote a two-page first-person narrative about how I would score the winning goal for the Detroit Red Wings in the Stanley Cup finals against the Chicago Blackhawks. This was actually less plausible than becoming a fire truck since the Wings and Hawks played in the same conference, and thus could never meet in the finals. So I guess I write because on my very first career day, I had already decided that I wasn’t going to pay attention to what I could and couldn’t actually do.”

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