Page 1

# * %


cold wash cycle

thank you for all who submitted.

for all who listened to me ramble on about this one blog I’m starting. for parents, pre-school teachers, writers who write about whales, mexican restaurants, the men who bottle milk, and carnies. for failed relationships because they make things more interesting. for the readers who will read all of the great words inside. thank you for reading this mixture of darks & lights in a cold wash cycle. Inside are true stories and true stories posing as fiction. Hope they don’t bleed together and then shrink.

your editor, pashmina


cold wash cycle

bethany v. price. a poet with the daring a testosterone-rich orc envies. currently working on a poetry manuscript with beautiful caligraphy and illustrations. a spirited young woman.

parker winship. co-author of the blog a poet and fiction writer. currently working on a screenplay that will tear your socks right off. he makes a good joke and an even better bowl of mac and cheese.


cold wash cycle

kristin peterson. a poet & photographer. cooks jambalaya like gumbo and is okay with twitter now. never refuses a hug; takes naps in between classes. currently writing a novel that might turn into a screenplay.

mary shippee. a world traveler and a keeperupper of the interesting whatsits in this world. she will never quit smoking if she continues to watch film noirs. a poet, a friend, a fighter. she carbonates the world.

my first cut out poem

cold wash cycle

A soldier in Iraq called with two weeks notice to tell his wife he was now a virtual hailstorm of chaos and uninterrupted text, and that the old men finally got him he’s a certified Isle, with granny square afghans to match. on the phone, she was a nervous inebriation of golden poppies and pornographic eyebrows she knew he tended towards the experimental, but this well worn territory Prefixed with media barrage alloted her vanilla boyfriends and grand portico canopies. “the world is changing” she realized and after glows on the far ridges of America would not be employed in her meat hacking slaughter. so, her laughter, entirely undue to vagueness/confusion, fell in with the lonely left over thumbs of Hebrew hospitality. Her husband’s penis, waving like an anemone, would miss her fattening walls. -Bethany Price


never ford the river

cold wash cycle

he, the innocent one, fumbled my thumbs grown home from beyorn -jambed limbs getting stubbed their sex was in between my legs a pelvis or two folding at my thighs two pansies yipping together, a kosher meal toppled jewelry box and its jacks stabbing at my red haired pygmy friend in the back who chants a little gregorian while he unsheathes and then sighs, sighs, sighs and I see I am still paying for falling off the monogamy wagon with every time we are all within a foot of that room where we forced warmed beers down his throat and laughed at how much more wild we are than them--at least I learned how to lie hope she remains happy to be my grazing, musing scapegoat


cold wash cycle because she sure does it well we should have learned from all those rainy-day recesses sitting at those macintoshs, playing game after game of Oregon Trail (we were all there at age 9, in the same room) that you never should ford the river and the rest of us, well, we aim to forget.

-Kristin Peterson


I am a Buddhist

cold wash cycle

I am a Buddhist (and that makes me cooler than you) I am a Buddhist And that makes me cooler than you. I don’t worry about my hair because I get emptiness, and I’m too busy meditating and pretending my legs aren’t cramped from zen lotus position I don’t care about money because I am too busy reading Suzuki Roshi contemplating my good karma I get from filling space with philosophical dharma talk for your benefit. I get all that dharma i’ve read but it’s too profound for you Don’t worry though. Even though I dwell in elevated realms, I can descend from the bhumis to enlighten you. My pleasure. -Mary Shippee


rainbow road

cold wash cycle

he was in a car crash and for months afterward whenever he drove on the interstate he imagined losing control again, the car flying out from underneath him, swaying into the centripetal force until the impact jams you out of it. he drove to winsor and on the way it became night and on a long stretch between cities a new radio station caught on the receiver that played jazz under a hiss of interference. the road was brand new and the white lines were perfect rectangles. every overhead light was on. there were sound barrier walls on either side of the road and beyond that, nothing. “woh,� he said. it was entirely detached, like in a utopian sci-fi movie, like a ribbon unfurled in space (which is also a little like an ejaculation), like mario kart rainbow road. he turned into a bend in the road, felt the gravity pull on him, sipped from a bottle of coca-cola. two lanes over, a semi sighed. coupled running lights pressed down the length of the road, stretching it further. he accelerated. the wheel hummed in his palms. shooooooooooooo -Parker Winship


april fools’ night

cold wash cycle

perhaps elastic plastic remembrances future political tense mummified heirlooms upon rustic nostalgia hand-holding house-cats; handy-man & a homecooked meal time manner, many are mingling, coexhibitioning in & out of their tipped glasses, mingling nostalgic tears with buttery honey, muttering money promises, a panderer using dander to squander upfaced plams with beautified begging, too bad outside is nothing but snakes in sand--sandy snakes. Why wander into damned dams when one can inquire whether time will grow fatter “a horse, a horse. My kingdom for a house.� Of course.

-Bethany Price, Kristin Peterson, & Travis Thorp


failed new years resolutions

cold wash cycle

skin peels, luggage of bones. violins wilt inside pianos what it sounds like when we weep (you, silently). the smallest inky drop of sad embedded in my cheek, embryonic. we keep returning to the past, a bad habit, memory a lungfish sucking on our ears. my fingers breathe old sweat harm the varnish on my brain. these hands keep creating the same veined figure; clones. we live in a room of them, make our beds in their shit.

- Bethany Victoria Price


and so it goes

cold wash cycle

my lists are pure summer folly and I miss the freedom maybe, maybe, baby. Maybe. And nothing is worse than “it’s too late.” you see I give charity to none and I love only some clever karats capture curious cats, can’t concede He’s always chiming like a ring-tone. yonder a tree grows dim along with lengthy inner twilight you’re nothing like her; she was a bag of nerves left-overs are ok. especially with me I reminisce, I reminisce to the corner store on 9th street, laying chocolate rapidly whispering, “I want you.” Don’t just stand there, build something! a tangerine rabbit chasing tail, laughing, reeling measure all you want, it is best to wait. Wouldn’t it be nice if we were homeless? Then we wouldn’t have to pay the bills. and no it sounds foreign for your mouth to say sorry maybe across the street I was told, “it it tastes good, spit it out.”


cold wash cycle a forehead here blinded by time’s comical fingertips No, not maybe. But, always, “baby.” And so it goes.

-Bethany Price, Kristin Peterson, & Travis Thorp


cold wash cycle cold wash cycle is a blog and now a literary journal that aims to cleanse ourselves of the thoughts that track in mud. we share what we see as true and what we aren’t sure is true at all. all are welcome to submit pieces to cold wash cycle. visit and sift through the posts. most are fiction pieces but we all know they are just poorly hidden true stories. some write poems about how they kissed their best friend’s brother in the seventh grade. some write about the photograph they airbrushed to make them look thinner for their ok cupid account. some send in photos of their trips to the everglades. some write about regets. some write about triumphs. thank you for reading through this piece. if you want to get involved please e-mail and an overly friendly response will come back your way.

may 2011

cold wash cycle's first publications  

a collections of writings from milwaukee walkers.

Read more
Read more
Similar to
Popular now
Just for you