When we found ourselves approaching the topic’s borders, one of us would inevitably duck—generally me. On occasion Julie would land a glancing jab, but never a knock-out. The issue: She wanted children; I did not.

The soldiers stand in rows, one behind the other. Their parachutes are connected to a metal bar and when they jump out of the plane, the parachute is automatically triggered. They jump from only 1500 feet so the landings are fast and hard. They spend most of their training learning how to fall.

Poetry offers one answer: fragmentation. If I have gaps in my memory of the event, I can leave the gaps in the poem with white space, enjambment, or incomplete sentences.

With blue-wrapped hands,

they’ll trace her esophagus and stomach

all barnacled with tumors.

September has finally arrived, and its brought a brand new Barnstorm editorial team along with it!