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.