Welcome to issue 10. There is algae in the rain in Brasilia. Every time it rains the swimming pools turn green. Chemicals go in the water and then it turns blue again, everyone can swim. They try not to get the algaecidal water up their noses.
In this issue Robin Wyatt Dunn relays the unusual days of Colonel Stierlitz. Adam Gianforcaro sees a reclusive neighbor through the eyes of a child. And Robertson Klaingar finds the cobwebbed corners of our review with its first horror story.
Among the poets, Peter Barnfather has a mistress in and of the sea. David Jibson returns with another wonderful piece of paleo-anthropology. Mari Maxwell’s words are sweet and happy on the tongue. And Michelle Tudor still sees her lover in the sheets.
New cover artist Ingrid Souder brings an Aztec god.
The Brasilia Review is an ukulele strummed on a warm winter beach.
Colonel Stierlitz by Robin Wyatt Dunn
“’We saw you weeping,’ says the microphone.”
The Recluse and Four Consecutive Fridays by Adam Gianforcaro
“I waited a bit like that with my face against the cold window and my one eye open. I felt detective-like.”
Thunderstorm by Robertson Klaingar
“You can’t please your wife. And so she left with a biker.”
Living Amongst My Salty Mistress by Peter Barnfather
“never once / ceasing to allow me breath”
Ichnology by David Jibson
“They left their bare footprints / in what was then wet volcanic ash”
Connemara Berry Picking by Mari Maxwell
“coax parched lips to ecstasy”
Creased Linens by Michelle Tudor
“The (unmade) bed harbours your / dulcet moans”