Welcome to our second issue, where the Menagerie turns its attention to small, sometimes unseen things.
I
turned.
I knew
what I was
doing.
I
dreamed:
gardens
cooling, stars
You spoke of your great-grandfather falling
in love with a cabaret dancer, of how his mother
forbade the affair
The bodies of fish inhale
memory of air in deepest water.
The sound bled from his headphones
thrash metal: he knelt in a pew, late
afternoon sun
When I was fifteen, I read a book about a mute girl who went to a bar to see a show.