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Grey Sparrow Journal and Press, as of January 31, 2018 will move to

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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How It Appears


At the ocean, I've never
felt more tiny—

The slope
of my arm.

Your runway of narrow bone.


On the scrim of my brain
we’re backlit by water.
The ocean
inches forward—
threatening castles,
flattening sea walls.
Sand crabs shush each other
in a labyrinth of tunnels
under our themed towels.



Shadows choose stories:
You’re a giant,
I'm a duck.
We laugh at the way it appears.



You tell me
about an article  read
with this exact moment
in it.

                  -Meg Pokrassr





My big sister taught me
the word “fuck.”
I’d tried
singing it operatically,
while dusting furniture.
We sucked Dutch pretzels
all day like bones.
The word tasted
delicious and hopeful
as alphabet soup.

I imagined the two of us
flinging mom’s door open,
screaming “Fuck!”
Watching her look up,
and really see us

as if we were miracles.

                -Meg Pokrassrass



Not to Complicate


In the bungalow he chose
I sit and watch the clock.
Not to complicate, I knit,
bake cornbread, dance
away the ice inside my fingers.
Once, I carved his name
into the shy part
of a potato.  There was
a dog then,
sand, and a beach.

         -Meg Pokrassrass