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Eileen Ni Shuilleabhain

I climb until all the horizons are round. Five miles vertical a freckled sky only stars to steer the moon on my head. Black frost hammers the fixed ropes that keep me from scalloped rocks beneath. Unnatural shapes on glacier floors. Air is thin here. The sound of fatigue each breath a velvet fist to the lungs each foothold a breaching whale. The darkness breaks over rocks. Sudden, the rope slips I lose my path. I remember cosiness in sunlit rooms my stronghold and you. This stillness cracks the mind the heart. Christ on Calvary do not talk to me of death or love while this mountain’s shadow is stretched to China.


Gambling the Aisle, Issue 10  
Gambling the Aisle, Issue 10  

This issue features work by Chloe Hanson, Stu Buck, Allen Forrest, and Katrina Majkut. Includes an interview with Steven Félix-Jäger.