2 Poems by Lana Bella CURFEW Staining your fingers with graphite, you wrecked until the lake flicked its tails to cerulean mosaics of silence along the track of curfew. Pooled the half-light between lips, you watched a windfall of fireflies brushed sideways across the hum of water like threads split at the tapestry, more […]Read more "2 Poems | Lana Bella"
Putting together this issue these last few weeks has left me feeling very sentimental. Three weeks from now marks the day that The Drowning Gull‘s astounding Founder and Chief Editor, Tiegan Dakin, accepted me to head the rag-tag group of staff as the Managing Editor. Since that day, my time here has truly been incredible. Throughout […]Read more "Editor’s Note | Katelyn Dunne"
Agnes Dei by Angele Ellis Agnes Dei On our second date, he said he had a surprise for me. The maître d’ led us into an intimate dining room whose winking electric chandeliers made the cream damassin tablecloths almost too bright to bear. A glass of white wine and an appetizer I recognized as a designer […]Read more "Agnes Dei | Angele Ellis"
2 Poems by Michael Prihoda Food play at being more whole than a fully stocked aisle. play at being more full than factory- coded picture frames. you ingest so much gristle it’s wonder how you shave away all but marrow. Narrow and we or you or […]Read more "2 Poems | Michael Prihoda"
Fall From Grace by Margaret Fieland Fall From Grace Devil in black and white smiles down on tan teak curves of dining room table: spoonfuls of clear cerise Consomme Madrilene, garlicky bites of lamb garnished with mint jelly, lemon-cloud mouthfuls of Mom’s chiffon pie, while Satan seduces Eve with […]Read more "Fall From Grace | Margaret Fieland"
2 Poems by Shelby Dale DeWeese THE KNOWLEDGE OF DIRT of grapevines & umbilical cords bloody knots in bassinets man swings across the creek, baby on his back […]Read more "2 Poems | Shelby Dale DeWeese"
2 Poems by Sarah Cooper We Thought About It That’s a lie: I thought about it. You had cut short on rehab, again, shown up knuckles freshly scabbed hands clenched for Dad, again, lost your job, again. We could smell addiction on your clothes: sweat, salt, stale beer. We couldn’t bandage […]Read more "2 Poems | Sarah Cooper"