Sincere Dalliances: Issue #1

By Ellerslie Books

Sincere Dalliances is a twice yearly publication featuring innovative poetry and short fiction written by creators under the age of 40 from coast to coast.

Issue #1 features work by Matthew D. Albertson, Katie Byrum, Chelsea Cespedes, Lauren R. Coffey, Eileen Elizabeth Espinoza, Oscar Nieves Lira, Brandon Nicholas,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ellerslie Books
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088096871

Book preview

thoughts of a hedgehog

Josh Oster

death is an inevitable truth

that makes algorithms quake

the news of passing and goings

are read, a listing for a new tenant

when you first came home

in a cardboard box of anxiety

i wonder

if you knew that this was comfort

a resting place to dig your claws into

to run rampant among your dreams

i wonder

when I held you

where you happy in the pocket of my hoodie?

a flash of peppered fury

looking to escape

somewhere, anywhere, hell under the sofa

would do

i’m just glad that I was part of your escape

i wonder

when I came in to check on you

at 10:30 PM

were you angry at me for waking you?

couldn’t say that I could blame you

when sleep is a necessity

in an ever-changing world

i wonder

if you felt alone when you took your last breath

quills to the heavens, destined to strike

the fear of death from the sun

of a ceramic heat lamp

this became your final stand.

i wonder

if I would have tried harder

to be your friend

to be with you

would you still be here

your grave marks my failure

wrapped in Tupperware and a Walmart terry

fiber cloth towel

i was afraid to bury you

because I was afraid to leave you behind

a part of myself can still feel

your cold as steel body

hardened, a forged sword buried

maybe, one day, I’ll forgive myself

until then, Know that I’m sorry.

until then, know that you’ll still be

the hedgehog in that cardboard box

that I brought home years ago.

Magnolia

Lauren R. Coffey

driving north up 95, the magnolias

un-bloom florida-georgia-south Carolina 

their petals fold in and in and in until 

north carolina-virginia  

full-breasted blonde birds  

roost among waxy green leaves 

ready to unfold  

again 

for the first time 

and i wonder 

if i drive north from myself 

can i undo 

not undo but 

have never done 

mouse-brown decay on my velvet body 

will fold in and in and in  

spotless  

fain to burst 

do it right this time  

future is fact but  

so is the circle  

and given enough time 

all things  

beget again 

Trojan Horses

Bryan Staggers

I do not want to speak to you.

I do not want to acknowledge you at all beyond the way a toddler recognizes a giraffe in a picture book years before he actually encounters one.

But you aren't in a picture book.  You can't be seen at all.  You are invisible.  You are disguised.  You are inevitable.

It's that last truth that I can't accept.  Surely nothing is inevitable.  With the endless possibilities of endless dimensionalities, there must be at least one story in which you are Achilles.  Why should this story, my story, not be the one in which you bare your heel?

You are pain.  You are misery.  You are destruction, callous and cruel, uncaring and unyielding.

You're a panther stalking prey under a new moon.

You're a piece of toast forgotten in a broiler.

I do not want you here.  But that doesn't matter.  My opinion in this case is moot-perhaps in both definitions of the word.

Like an alarm in early morning after a restless night of sleep.  Like a candle whose wick can't hold the weight of its flame.  You come when you must.  I cannot fault you for that.  But I cannot befriend you.

I can,

however,

respect you.

And I will shout your name into the sky in wails that rival the sirens pulling into the driveway.

But I hope--I pray--that my eyes will catch a glimpse of your heel before our battle ends.

O death, your footprints are my agony.

2 John 1:10

Katie Byrum

Your now-greying father shares a picture 

of the whole handsome family: 

your brother traded braces for dress blues, your sister in a wedding

band instead of light-up shoes,

and you, a husband and father of two, 

standing outside the church that told 

you: I had too many questions. 

Now I have more: 

Are your little children people yet? 

Have they asked about God 

with the pointed persistence 

of a circling shark? 

Have they smelled the blood of