WE WERE NOT ALLOWED TO KEEP THEM
by Jenniey Tallman
Artwork by Christopher Tallman
[audio:http://www.hootreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/WeWereNotAllowedToKeepThem.mp3]

At five, we kept trash. We started hiding it after our father had to
go. His suitcases were by the door. We were in first grade, in love
with our school room: the careful blocks filling plastic tubs, the
play kitchen, the beautiful crayons in long flat boxes.

The house was different without him. Everyone was living all over
the place and all the rooms were changing order, appearing where
they’d not been, hiding. We hid our things in the bottom drawer of
the white dresser in the room with the bunk bed, a window.

We’d flatten them smooth and nest them in the drawer: burger
boxes, fry bags, milk cartons, wrappers. Everything was always
changing. We couldn’t keep track of our house, our parents. A trail
of black ants found our hoard. We worried someone would follow.
Then we moved and lost friends, sidewalks, trees, our collection.

 

 

 

 

FIREWORKS
by Adam Gianforcaro
Artwork by Adam Gianforcaro
[audio:http://www.hootreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Fireworks.mp3]

 

Blossoms across black backdrops,
pyrotechnics of confetti embers.

Young teens kissing
and trying their first smokes,

calliandras flowers
blooming in twilight.

 

 

 

 

 

WATER POTS
by Haley Dziuk
Artwork by David Turner
[audio:http://www.hootreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/waterpots.mp3]

The boy, old enough to mind the family shop, sits cross-legged behind an array of golden vessels no larger than thimbles. I’m visiting the birthplace of Krishna, the Indian god of love, whose youthful play is said to make up the fabric of the Universe.  Like Krishna, this youth is dark-skinned and handsome.

I ask what the pots are. My Hindi is clumsy, so he smiles.

“They’re for water.” He opens one and adds a stick of incense to demonstrate.

“Oh!” I exclaim. “For prayer?” and he nods, his playful eyes dancing like stars in the night, flirtatious in their unattainability. I want to tell him that one day even Krishna had to abandon his lover and his flute; had to go off to war and become a man and a king. But he knows this, surely.

 

 

 

MAINTENANCE
by Haley Dziuk
[audio:http://www.hootreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/maintenanceaudio.mp3]

The patch on his shirt reads maintenance. For thirty years he’s walked
the halls of the University, mopping floors and freeing dust from
blackboards. But tonight is different.  Finals are over, the halls are void
of napping students and the frantic sound of turning pages.  The only
noise is that of his paintbrush moving back and forth, obliterating the
bold strokes of permanent marker and the shy, barely visible gray of
pencil. Declarations of love and war, philosophies, jokes, quotes, cries
for help- all disappear beneath a coat of paint the color of discarded
pantyhose. Finishing, he shakes his head and shuffles to the next stall.
He has read these words while plunging toilets and scrubbing porcelain;
knows them like the words of a favorite poem, but he knows time is
cyclical. With a shaking hand, he paints the canvas until it is empty.

 

 

 

 

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Jenniey Tallman grew up in Virginia and now studies writing in St. Paul MN with her husband and three sons. Recent writing can be found in The Summerset Review, Gargoyle, elimae, and The Rumpus.

Christopher Tallman is currently a graduate student of Architecture and Landscape at the University of Minnesota. He is Jenniey’s husband and the father of her three sons.

Adam Gianforcaro is a freelance writer working professionally for non-profit associations. He has had several works published in print and online magazines, and recently published a poetry collection titled Morning Time in the Household, Looking Out.

Haley Dziuk has recently relocated from the temperate plains of Iowa to central Arizona, where she spends her time exploring, playing guitar, and contemplating getting a ‘real’ job.

 

 

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