Editors: Komal Mathew and Jenny Sadre-Orafai Josephine Quarterly (ISSN 2334-5888) is an online literary journal accepting only unpublished poetry and art. This online journal was founded in 2012 by poets Komal Mathew and Jenny Sadre-Orafai in Atlanta. Published quarterly online, the editors are interested in work from both established and new voices. Cover Image: â€œBehind All the Chaosâ€? by Akhila Bandlora
About the Journal
Be the Cry| Hawa Allan
The Method | Tyra Douyon
Tuesday | Kallie Falandays
Return | David Ishaya Oyu
Husbandry | Kylan Rice
SPRING 2018 Be the Cry
When you have outgrown your skin and emerge raw, wrinkled, your body an ending of nerves, light, wind and rain a stinging offense, your mouth a’slack and waiting like a baby bird’s beak— that first sound, that gurgling rasp through a new throat, will be the cry that births another world.
SPRING 2018 The Method
Tyra Douyon Sometimes I go weeks without it. It’s fine at first, almost enjoyable, because I’m not so observant. But then my hand starts shaking, like it’s reminding me it can be used for more than writing grocery lists and touching him under the table. I wake with tears brimming my eyes, a needle stuck in my throat; a quiet warning to get up before the cactus, never needing water, dies in the sun. I hear whispering as I turn my shower head into red clover, when my eyes wink for the last time before sleep, after I crack my back into grade school origami. A million voices howl: cotton, fire, cello, fist, everything, mother, angel, whiskey—I can’t help but cup my hands with intent to my ears. I trip into them, the angry mouth of a double-dutch rope. By the end of the hour I hack them down with child scissors playing hide and seek with my tongue. Finally, after fasting three days for silence, I sit and write about grocery lists and touching him under the table. We laugh like the eyes of animals waiting to be slaughtered. And I die with them every night. Naked. Standing on my head.
SPRING 2018 Tuesday
Misery like a white cloth Over her shielded back. We are ugly Under the bedroom light. Ugly when we love each other, When we don’t. Partial spirit! Appear on command! The thin skin of the self Tightens then later, slips Like I do, like he— His glistening back The only thing that holds light As he enters—careful!— The water— Does. Cream-colored Horizon through my window. Sound of rain All lifetime long. If he’s holy Then you are. There’s a chance, Marguerite, We will become tangerines And purse our lips Like that For each other Every evening. Velvet kisses, Kindred and lonely, 6
SPRING 2018 Crackling fires over your childhood bookshelf. Come here, Holy Beast, I have something To show you. If it is evening And heâ€™s eating soup Singing an old tune, I believe you. If itâ€™s evening and he says, I love you, darling, Toward the wintering window, I love you, my dear, Believe him. But covered in sleep like that, We cannot say He is not turning a single flower In his broken hand For me.
SPRING 2018 Return David Ishaya Osu without flames, i could put my flesh backâ€”as a lover, you do not forgive because the piano is saying sorry to all of us the body will be wide someday & we will burn to blue is to look at your shadow through a mirror & go to birds the sky is as bright as our scars friends
SPRING 2018 Husbandry
What is seen is inside. A handful of harebells light the garden room for several days. The hills swing open to light, today as always, years now sinceâ€”a sacrifice to street improvementâ€” the famous row of occidental plane-trees came down, light (extensiveness) a disjunction that cuts through scenes of daily life, activities, retirement, lengthened rooms, later added ells, fruitless building til the Builder comes, unhorsing the nature of things. In the meantime, closure, that handful, remains in my hands, placing placed there. Bunch of violets. Bunch of reins.
Hawa Allan writes cultural criticism, fiction and poetry. She is an essay editor at The Offing and her work has appeared, among other places, in The Baffler, the Chicago Tribune, Lapham's Quarterly and Tricycle magazine, where she is a contributing editor. Akhila Bandlora, a sophomore at BASIS Phoenix, resides in Arizona. She has been awarded eighteen times regionally through the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, where she serves as copresident of her local affiliate. A recipient of Bowseatâ€™s Gold Award for Poetry and an honorable mention from Nancy Thorpâ€™s Poetry Contest, her work is published or forthcoming in Best Teen Writing of Arizona, fromthebowseat, Rising Phoenix Press, JUST POETRY!!!, and Crab Fat Magazine. Currently, she serves as a COUNTERCLOCK Art Reader. Tyra Douyon is an English education major and professional writing minor at Kennesaw State University. She is from Bronx, New York and enjoys traveling, reading, and writing in loud spaces. Through poetry she expresses her thoughts on religion, loss, heartbreak, and family. What began as an isolated art for healing, has become a collective, necessary conversation she shares with others. Kallie Falandays is the author of Dovetail Down the House. (Burnside Review Press, 2016). You can read her work in Black Warrior Review, Salt Hill, The Journal, PANK, and elsewhere. She runs www.telltellpoetry.com. David Ishaya Osu is a poet, memoirist and editor. He is a board member of Babishai Niwe Poetry Foundation. Among numerous publications, his work appears in Eureka Street, Slice Magazine, Transition, Salamander Magazine, New Coin Poetry, Poetry Wales, Poetry Salzburg Review, Platypus Press. David is currently the poetry editor of Panorama: The Journal of Intelligent Travel. Kylan Rice has an MFA from Colorado State University, and he is working on his PhD at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Some of his poems can be found at Kenyon Review, The Seattle Review, and elsewhere. His book reviews have been published by Colorado Review, West Branch, Carolina Quarterly and the Emily Dickinson Society Bulletin.