Issue > Poetry
Marissa Simone McNamara

Marissa Simone McNamara

Marissa McNamara lives in Atlanta, Georgia. She enjoys doing local readings and has been published in several journals, including RATTLE, Future Cycle, Storysouth, Flycatcher, and Ninepatch.


The doctor wears white. Her lips move.

I follow the quick nurse's shoes.
A white maze of halls.
Swinging door from out to in.

He wears a cotton gown. I know it is tied in the back.
He is on a conveyor
poised to enter the machine.
Metal swallows the room.

A tube arches from his nose and mouth.
The lights are bright.
His skin is yellow, eyes like milk.

A measured red line moves on the machine.

A nurse removes the tube.

She hands me a towel. I wipe his face.

His name is typed on a white plastic wrist band.
The black letters try to make him real.


Phil Timpane

Phil Timpane
She Tells Me


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Mary Ann McGuigan
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Bruce Willard

Bruce Willard
January Bus Ride