From LIGHT BOXES

Shane Jones

When Thaddeus arrived home



He told Selah about a war against February. She bathed Bianca in mint water, ran a cloth in circles around her back.

I don't know if a war will help anything, she said.

It's The Solution, said Thaddeus. They have nothing to lose. I don't know. It's something we should consider. For her sake. He tilted his head towards Bianca.

Come, said Selah, and Thaddeus followed her voice as if the word was a hook thrown from the bath water.

He knelt down beside the tub and placed his face in the mint water. Bianca felt him close to her back. The water rose to her chin. She remembered what it was like to swim in the river with June. The drain in the tub was a fish biting her toe. Thaddeus held his face in the water long enough for the mint to fully absorb into his beard.

There, said Selah tugging upwards with a fistful of Thaddeus's hair.

Water poured from his beard. Thaddeus walked into the kitchen and made a cup of tea then went back into the bathroom. He watched his wife continue to bathe Bianca. He made sure to tip the teacup high enough when he sipped so that Bianca could see the balloon painted on the bottom.

...




From THE FAILURE SIX



#

Antun fell asleep.

He dreamed the sea eating caped owls. He saw Foe in a rowboat fishing for dead owls but only capturing wet capes. On the shore he saw the man with the mustache and two revolvers walking in a quick manner, firing bullets into the bleeding chest of an old man.

Antun saw himself feeding city pigeons. He held a long piece of string that spiraled from a corner of his face to the horizon.

All along the string, sea wet pieces of bread for the pigeons.

...

Shane Jones was born in Albany, New York, the first child of Marcia and Dennis Jones. Educated at Buffalo University, he studied with Robert Creeley, Charles Bernstein and Susan Howe. He is the author of the short collections Maybe Tomorrow and I Will Unfold You With My Hairy Hands. Work has appeared widely online and in print. Of his first novel, Deb Olin Unferth said his "imaginative voice is like some winged thing . . . Light Boxes is a beautiful, heartful work."
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