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Komal Mathew and Jenny Sadre-Orafai Josephine Quarterly (ISSN 2334-5888) is an online literary journal accepting only unpublished poetry and art.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: “Molten Past” by Paweł Grajnert
About the Journal
Deposition: On That Night & All That Was After| Emma Bolden
From the Notebook | Wendy Taylor Carlisle
An Almost-Portrait of My Father | Sarah Escue
When Ghosts Come Back in Clothes | Kathy Goodkin
Dear Extraterrestrial | Kathy Goodkin
We Visit His Grave Every Week | Kandace James
Deposition: On That Night & All That Was After Emma Bolden The sedan pushed its high beams over the county which was its roads & its fields & in them the animals, who watched us with their invisible eyes. He said do you want to just park here & I said are you serious & he said no, I'm not serious, I'm Jeremy. We were always going on like that. In the fields every ear of corn had its stalk & nothing sounded like music. Did I want to take him inside of me or did I want to know if inside of me there was an I that was me. There was an appreciable difference. When the temperature fell I knew no one is a hero with a jacket anymore. He said we might as well be a movie & I said well how do you know that we aren't. Did I want to take or did I want to know. Inside of me there was an I, there was a night with its mouth full of stars.
From the Notebook
Wendy Taylor Carlisle
language theory: the presence of talk implies the absence of deep feeling. corollary: Iâ€™ll be on the coast soonâ€”where nobody listens. There, tulips and eucalyptus are strangely similar in sound and stalk. Further Speculation: Talk is hunger and the hunger that comes after. Meanwhile: generous penurious dapper smart Order these words into the pattern that makes most sense.
Consider what a woman wants: A man over her, crooning, beautiful. The man of few words. From him she learned the verb quiet, the verb archive, the adjective memoir, but she has no language for the thing they did by the water, no name for their separate windows, no part of speech for the lake.
WINTER 2017 An Almost-Portrait of My Father1 Sarah Escue
This erasure is an excerpt from “The Rector” in Waysiders by Seumas O'Kelly. 6
Why Ghosts Come Back In Clothes Kathy Goodkin Tonight the domestic pretends to be the world soft blue me-ghost riding the sofa until dawn window me this: what moved across the room in the early glare I never saw fabric like that a part of the air Is it sad all my dead lined up behind the curtain waiting?
Why does the sidewalk just sit there while the stars alphabet the sky? It is everything. I thought it would be. Which is to say I am disappointed. So please describe these objects in orbit: an Indiana farmhouse, a closet full of skirts. Whether they are “skirts” or “a skirt” I cannot discern, but the torn edge/s flap and gingham is on the breeze. Now here you might see more light, writing the basest of stories: asphalt, old potpourri charm, flies wings, &c. individually packaged against dust, alphabetized in bulk bins. The applications are so many; a great number of mites on my hands. This is the conclusion. Bye. I said goodbye. I am due to watch a man on a fire escape, and very soon the TV light will break my carapace.
We Visit His Grave Every Week Kandace James Never realize how muddy I am until I reveal my palms; milk exchanged for soil, saturated in salt. Mom mistakes me for dad again and my skin sheds its blackness and floats atop my head and hisses at the walls. It is black. Black not like brown. Black, not like absence of light. Black like dadâ€™s eyes in photographs, or the leather concealing my prayer book. Mom screams at who I appear to be and my flesh unravels up to the meeting of my twisted twine. Twine burst into ash; sprinkles her face until it is no longer her face. The walls leak and so do I. At times I have no skin, at times I have no skin. At times I think I have no skin. Mom erupts into bees, trying to find something sweet.
Emma Bolden is the author of medi(t)ations (Noctuary Press, 2016) and Maleficae (GenPop Books, 2013). Her work has appeared in The Best American Poetry and The Best Small Fictions. She received a 2017 Creative Writing Fellowship from the NEA and serves as the Senior Reviews Editor for Tupelo Quarterly. Wendy Taylor Carlisle lives in the Arkansas Ozarks. She is the author of two books, Reading Berryman to the Dog and Discount Fireworks (both Jacaranda Books) and five chapbooks, the most recent is Chap Book from Platypus Press, UK. For more information, check her website at www.wendytaylorcarlisle.com. Sarah Escue is a poet, visual artist, and editor in Boulder, Colorado. Her poems and artwork appear or are forthcoming in Gulf Stream, Rogue Agent, Dialogist, Elke: A Little Journal, After the Pause, DIAGRAM, Idle Magazine, The Murmur House, Tooth n Nail, So To Speak, and Hermeneutic Chaos Journal, among others. Her first chapbook Bruised Gospel is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press in fall of 2017. You can visit her website at sarahescue.com. Kathy Goodkin is an editor for feminist publisher Gazing Grain Press. Her poems and criticism have appeared in Denver Quarterly, RHINO, Redivider, The Volta, and elsewhere. Her chapbook Sleep Paralysis is forthcoming from dancing girl press. Find her online at www.kathygoodkin.com. Paweł Grajnert is a writer/filmmaker who works in the US, UK and Poland. His work has screened at the Venice Film Festival, the Gdynia Film Festival and the Whitney Museum of Modern Art. His screenplay, “In Motion and At Rest,” was recently selected for recognition by the Sacramento International Film Festival. He co-founded the Seattle Poetry Slam, and is active in local and international politics. Kandace James is currently a junior at Kennesaw State University. She is working towards a Bachelors of Arts in English and a minor in African and African Diaspora Study.