New in Air/Light: An essay by Kristen Gallagher, and poetry by Diane Mehta, Kristin Robertson, and Brian Kim Stefans
Dear Readers,
In Kristen Gallagher’s beautiful essay on her father, she writes that she was “raised…on the old Irish adage: Never let the facts get in the way of the truth, and never let the truth get in the way of a good story…. If the facts don’t give the feeling of the experience, then we reshape, remix, resize those facts.”
We here at Air/Light couldn’t agree more, and we’re excited, as always, to bring you a whole host of writing that gets to the truth through a good story and beautiful language. Alongside Gallagher’s essay we’re thrilled to present you with poems by Diane Mehta, Kristin Robertson, and Brian Kim Stefans.
We know you’re gonna love it all, just like we do.
✌️
The Editors
Kristen Gallagher: “Vanguard Mail Operations”
It all started when, after nearly twenty years in the mailroom, someone from management in the Communications Department noticed that Eddie was a smart guy and a good communicator. This manager said, “We gotta get you out of this mailroom, I’ll find you something.” And soon enough, Eddie was brought into the Communications Department for a chance at a 9-to-5 office job—not only that, but a job as a writer. For his entire life, Eddie had wanted to be recognized as a writer, “a published author” as he called it, but he never knew how to make it happen. With this opportunity, he felt his time had finally come.
Diane Mehta: “Racket on the Petals,” “Hedge Man,” “Vanishing Point Canto,” “Freddie Mercury in Paradiso,” “Jeanne Lee, Conspiracy”
Hedge Man
The gardener climbs a ladder, wiring floodlights
in to snip the darkness off and save us.
We think we are so rich, below hedges
trimmed; we believe in Galileo because we telescope
objects of desire and confirm their centrality.
We have lived here since the fourteenth century.
We are kings of pencil shavings and paper
gaming high designs; we word-build
in Scrabble and weep over apocalypse letters
that won’t weave mechaniv into E or zock in O.
The floodlights swallow all the stars
we loved so much, but made within its shimmer
spotlights of our faces, dissolving behind us
with words and shapes we made at our tables,
knowledge in hand, believing we are so rich.
Kristin Robertson: “Apostrophe,” “Lottery (I’ll never know)”
Apostrophe
The four-year-old points a finger, dares you to speak,
dust particles whirl then spark in the afternoon sun.
Baby girl sees right through you. I invented
the silent treatment, recognize your game, even
in the hall, where now I listen but never hear you,
only her. She answers her own questions:
Did you meet her imaginary fruit bat? You did.
Is Jupiter still your favorite planet? Sure.
Brian Kim Stefans: “Fallen,” “Mirror and Table”
MIRROR AND TABLE
an solchen Dingen habe ich schauen gelernt 4
—Rilke
There is a mirror—it doesn’t reflect,
it sees. Forces acquire mass,
and the ashtray with azure patterns,
the clear wine glass that bleeds gradients
of color, the brown table, the closed book—
these are the mirror of attention,
the solid, evanescent foundation
of I—that might otherwise be a rumor.