Unlikely 2.0


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Editors' Notes

Maria Damon and Michelle Greenblatt
Jim Leftwich and Michelle Greenblatt
Sheila E. Murphy and Michelle Greenblatt

A Visual Conversation on Michelle Greenblatt's ASHES AND SEEDS with Stephen Harrison, Monika Mori | MOO, Jonathan Penton and Michelle Greenblatt

Letters for Michelle: with work by Jukka-Pekka Kervinen, Jeffrey Side, Larry Goodell, mark hartenbach, Charles J. Butler, Alexandria Bryan and Brian Kovich

Visual Poetry by Reed Altemus
Poetry by Glen Armstrong
Poetry by Lana Bella
A Eulogic Poem by John M. Bennett
Elegic Poetry by John M. Bennett
Poetry by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
A Eulogy by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Joel Chace
A Spoken Word Poem and Visual Art by K.R. Copeland
A Eulogy by Alan Fyfe
Poetry by Win Harms
Poetry by Carolyn Hembree
Poetry by Cindy Hochman
A Eulogy by Steffen Horstmann
A Eulogic Poem by Dylan Krieger
An Elegic Poem by Dylan Krieger
Visual Art by Donna Kuhn
Poetry by Louise Landes Levi
Poetry by Jim Lineberger
Poetry by Dennis Mahagin
Poetry by Peter Marra
A Eulogy by Frankie Metro
A Song by Alexis Moon and Jonathan Penton
Poetry by Jay Passer
A Eulogy by Jonathan Penton
Visual Poetry by Anne Elezabeth Pluto and Bryson Dean-Gauthier
Visual Art by Marthe Reed
A Eulogy by Gabriel Ricard
Poetry by Alison Ross
A Short Movie by Bernd Sauermann
Poetry by Christopher Shipman
A Spoken Word Poem by Larissa Shmailo
A Eulogic Poem by Jay Sizemore
Elegic Poetry by Jay Sizemore
Poetry by Felino A. Soriano
Visual Art by Jamie Stoneman
Poetry by Ray Succre
Poetry by Yuriy Tarnawsky
A Song by Marc Vincenz


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Three Poems by Changming Yuan

Ancestry Worshipping

No, we never planned it that way
But it so happened this seventh summer
I took my twelve-year-young son
To my father's native village among hairless hills
In the far east end, the other side of the world
Which he had left as a starving orphan
And returned with me in the Mao suit
Like a magic-toyed boomerang When we were both at Allen's age
      For the first times in our lives

Last time, my father forced the Little Red Guard in me
To kowtow, burn joss sticks and paper money secretly
      For his parents, whose dialect had survived
      Though I understood it only half-heartedly

This time, I cajoled my boy to grasp a handful of earth
          From the grave of my grandma worshipped by villagers
          (Her humaneness has supposedly made her a local deity)
And smuggle it to the backyard of our home in Vancouver
      Like some foreign seeds prohibited at the customs
As we departed, again, our clan elder chanted:
      Under the shade of a new highway          This old grave will soon be erased...




Last But Not Least

All my life is a preparation for this moment
So, please remove all these pipes and needles
          (Meant to nail and chain me in this earthy cell)
Feed me with no more food, drink or fluid
          (They are nothing less the poison to my mind)
Stop quilting me with any blankets or bed sheets
          (For my spirit is warm enough to rise like a balloon)
More important, keep talking or playing a yani to my ears
          (They are my final exit from this crowded room)

Ok, now, let it be right against light
Let me use my might to think bright
Shrinking all my shaded consciousness
Into a tiny transparent dot, and remind me
To become a god rather than a ghost




Three Trees

Into the backyard
       Of my humble heart
I transplanted three nameless trees
       One blossoms in spring
               And bears fruit in summer
       One wrestles with winds and rains
               On each less bright day
But the third does nothing
       Except standing idly there
  Up towards a distant star


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Changming Yuan works as a college English tutor in Vancouver and has had nearly 200 poems published or forthcoming in (for example) Descant (CA), The London Magazine (UK), Offcourse, Porcupine, Private (IT), Sentence, and Snorkel (AU); his first little chapbook is coming out soon from Narrow House.