Issue 1 — Poem


A Golden Shovel after Sandra Simonds

By Theric Jepson

I still remember when
I stood alone and you
bade me think
not of myself but about
my thinking of myself. It
may have helped, but mostly
—just to stand outside a
memory of the cast-iron cage
my grandmother inherited…. is
its bar more lasting than the air?


Theric Jepson is just another writer spending too much time thinking about the plays Shakespeare wrote during the plague. Find him here.