S h o r t S t o r i e s / F l a s h F i c t i o n / Po e t r y
POPS HOT QUARTERLY
THE ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE OF NEW WRITING
Exclusive: Shelby Van Pelt story inside
T HE JOY ISSUE Issue 36 – Summer 2022
“Joy is to fun what the deep sea is to a puddle. It’s a feeling inside that can hardly be contained.” – Te r r y Pra tc h e tt, A H a t Fu ll of S k y
J OY | Illu stration by Pamela Chen
T WO FOR JOY Poem by Cor inna Keefe Illu stration by Charlie R iddle
I walked down to the lake to hear the ducks arguing, and everywhere I went I saw magpies, hopping two by two on the stone steps that crown the hill, between the stone-grey curtains of the willow, along the stone-dry trails. One for sorrow, two for joy: you must survive two sorrows before you live a single joy. Or if your joys come all at once, watch out for the magpie taking his due. My mother taught me to be polite to magpies: sing songs to them, keep them sweet. One day your sorrows may pile up and you’ll need a magpie to cash them in for you. Silver for gold, treasure for secrets, giving away two hearts returns you one. But this calculation also tells us that joy weighs more than sorrow, has softer down, a greater wingspan, lives twice as long, has twice as loud a cry: joy, joy is worth more than sorrow.
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A REMINDER Poem by Mims Sully Illu stration by Millie Baker
They lingered by the edge of Grove Hill road, beneath the street lamp’s copper penny glow which crowned their heads with glittering specks of dust and turned them, for a little while, to Gods. They kissed goodnight then sat down on the kerb, not knowing why they laughed nor why it burned, like sparklers sweeping stars across the dark, to trace the fortune lines that crossed their palms. I watched them from behind the window-pane, my forehead pressed against the misted glass, the curtain softly gathered by my side. You called me back to bed, asked what I’d seen. Just us I smiled. Remember our first kiss? Remind me, you replied. And so I did.
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MARBLE RUN Poem by Jay Bar nett Illu stration by Celyn Hunt we build you in the afternoon, ignoring instructions, clicking parts in place in the hope that eventually, everything will make sense. I can’t speak for my sons, but as we snap wood to plastic, plastic to plastic, plastic to bamboo, I am imagining you entire, your small ancillaries surfing the lines. There are other things on my mind. Interpersonal psychodramas to which I am currently engaged. The sound our bedroom door makes when it scrapes the sisal in the dark. Particular sell by dates I have seen in the fridge, which come back to me in stark relief at certain unexpected points of the day. Now all abandoned as I sit in sun beams and build you with my sons, warm on the rug, and know the boundless possibility of your alternating segues. I hear the clack and roll of your coiled declivities and yet, the marbles are in the other room, tied in a hessian bag. The thing is, Marble Run, these sons are young. It won’t matter of the progress made when a tiny hand brings you to ruin and I am needed in the retrieval of a toy car whose wheels don’t work only to find it was the harmonica they desired all along. You’ll be left on the floor, and I’ll feed and bathe my offspring in a fray of grievance and discord. There are gaps in the floorboards that fill with carbohydrates. When the quiet settles. When the gloom sits in. That’s when I’ll find you, in pieces, and build again.
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Popshot Quarterly is a beautiful illustrated magazine showcasing imaginative short stories, flash fiction and poetry by the best new writers. The Joy Issue is a collection of vivid writing, exploring brief bursts of intense happiness. It goes deep, with tales of burgeoning desire, childhood giggles, exploding champagne bottles and laughter.
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SUMMER 2022 36
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