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WATER
A
T
E
R
March, 2018
BE ABOUT IT PRESS
Fuck extremism
- Christine Hall
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
water
- M; Margo
If the Mangroves Can Do It
The guide collects the empty skewers from the group and
begins handing out life jackets and paddles. The couple next to
Cassie kisses frequently and speaks quietly in French. When
they get their life jackets, the man helps the woman strap into
hers, and then the woman does the same. She buckles the front
closed gingerly, making sure to first brush his chest hair out of
the way. Henry accepts a life jacket from the guide but waves
off the attempt to take his watermelon skewer. Instead, he
clamps his teeth down around it and starts chewing with force.
Cassie climbs into the back of the kayak. They have already had
the fight about the back of the kayak, on an open water paddle
arranged by their hotel concierge off the island’s north shore.
On that occasion, Henry had insisted he should be the one to
steer; he was heavier, for one thing. Cassie reminded him that
he had never been kayaking, and she went to that summer
camp where they had no programming budget so they made
the kids paddle canoes back and forth across the lake all day.
Henry hissed: Why was she always emasculating him in front
of other people? Now he grinds the skewer between his teeth
as he moves to the front seat, not bothering to look in her
direction.
The group, spread out across five kayaks, paddles across the
river toward the mouth of the mangrove forest. Someone yells
“Speedboat!” and Cassie spins her head around, listening for
the sound of a motor—but it’s just one of the kayaks
challenging another to a race, and the people inside drag their
paddles as hard and fast as they can, giggling, sending up
eruptions of water.
When they reach the forest, the guide tells them to get in single
file: The channels are narrow here with monkeys sitting on
either side, and if you’re not careful, they’ll reach into your
kayak and steal that camera you have tried to waterproof by
putting it inside a Ziploc bag. The monkeys are sneaky, says the
guide, but it’s only because they have had to learn how not to
die. They live high in the trees surrounded by seawater they
cannot drink. Their only source of freshwater is the
mangroves, which, for their own survival, filter out most of the
salt. When the monkeys come down, it’s to suck the water from
the mangrove roots. The guide says the monkeys look so
desperate at these moments that people joke they must be in
love.
Along the west shore, the water is so shallow that you can walk
fifty, sixty, one hundred feet into the ocean and still be dry
above your knees. On one of their first mornings, Cassie
watched from the shore as Henry disappeared into the
distance, eventually a tiny speck recognizable only by his red
board shorts. She found herself thinking, why isn’t the water
level changing, how can he keep walking, why, why, why?
When he reached the buoys indicating the steep drop-off of the
ocean floor ahead, Henry turned around and waved. She waved
back, a big thought growing bigger within her, until he started
his return.
On the tour of the mangroves, Cassie and Henry are the first
kayak to get to the waterfall, but they’re not particularly fast
paddlers; it’s only because they forgot to stop to take pictures.
Once everyone gets there, the guide has them dock and come
up onto the clearing, where they circle around the rotting
carcass of a crab.
He explains, everyone in the mangrove forests eats the crabs:
the people, the monkeys, the crocodiles, even the snakes. The
crabs only eat the fish, but of course, everyone else eats the fish
as well. It’s not a good deal for the crabs, but what can you do?
The guide says he tried eating a lizard once, grilled whole and
chopped up and served in a paper cone, from a street vendor at
the island center. Chopped up, bones and all. It was a bad
feeling, he says, having to pick all those bones from between
his teeth. Crabs are easier to deal with. A crab wears its
skeleton on the outside; you can take it right off.
- Kristina Ten
New Glasgow
so reflective, so undecided
on what world it was in—
- Thomas L. Winters
Ode to Modafinil
- D. Ted Tarnovski
- Kevin Ridgeway
“beach resort".
blood burns
actually
relaxing
- Sierra Ventura
Placeholder interstitials.
LIVE MUSIC
Was the sign on my ex-girlfriend’s apartment wall, my
dyslexic heart overwrote
My minds initial
Reading rewrote as
MUSIC LIVE, you
Laughed and
Said you do the same thing
Usually
I’m remembering that as I get
The best overall time backboarding at the
Lifeguard competition
44 seconds, I didn’t get the best time though,
that was 43 seconds,
it’s funny how one second
is all it takes for an old memory to come into view
And remind you that the past isn’t as bad as you once told
yourself.
how to log off from this disillusionment never was i your good
girl, not your fresh-faced fucking angel wrapped in velcro
never was my flower your well-placed mouth guard taste these
fists instead i was always soft but contrary to your beliefs
never was i weaponless or helpless underneath the weight of
your words you hoped that would drown me a body you hoped
would be weightless sinking to the bottom of your man-made
lake my body was never a vacancy and my vulnerability was
never meant as an invitation to soothe your shame soaked soul
to sleep but i always nodded yes trembled like the moon-lit sky
still I was hesitant to speak up when my dress was clenched in
my hands and i am still thinking of ways constantly to unlearn
what was us burying these memories in fields i wish we hadn't
laid in i am not your pretty wet-dream so pull your limbs back
into their sockets before you use them on me the fluorescent
sign hung on the door says never touch me again and i couldn't
be more sure this time around when i say you are not ever
welcomed here again
- Bianca Niño
A Moment
- Donnie Martino
TFW you have to make a decision
- Maggie Grabmeier
Dolphin
Shelby didn’t see a dolphin in the pool. That pissed her off.
Shelby spent fifteen of her wishes in the last week on a dolphin.
Any dolphin. To start living in the pool of her apartment
building.
Shelby lived on the third floor with her mother and brother.
She decided to spend one more wish on a dolphin. She closed
her eyes said, "I'm going to walk down all three flights of stairs.
And when I get to the bottom there better be a dolphin
swimming in the pool. And it better be a girl dolphin. And she
better squirt out of her blowhole at me. Because she is happy
to see me. Because I wished her into the pool. That's my wish."
Then Shelby looked at the air in front of her face. Waited for
the air that held her wish to swoosh away to wherever wishes
go after you say them.
Mala said to Shelby, “This pool is too small for a dolphin to live
in. It would be cruel. The dolphin wouldn’t be able to swim and
jump around.” Rachel added. “This water is full of chemicals.
It’s not the right water at all for a dolphin. It would die here. It
would be like if you or I swam in a bathtub full of poison.”
The women pissed Shelby off more. It came to her then. The
women were witches. Witches that cast an anti-dolphin spell
on the pool. Shelby couldn’t figure out why the women wanted
to keep dolphins away. She decided the only way to beat a spell
was to use a spell. Not a wish. Shelby said to the women, “Fine,
go ahead and cast your spells. But I’m going to find a stronger
spell than what you’ve got. And I’m going to bring a dolphin
here. And the dolphin will talk to me. In english.” Shelby ran
away from the pool and up the stairs to her apartment.
Mala put down her phone. She wanted to share a photo of her
while she swam with a dolphin. It was taken during a little
touristy thing she did while on vacation with her father after
his third divorce. She hoped it might make the girl envious.
Rachel liked Shelby. She thought it would be a fun to let little
girl’s dolphin spell work. And let a dolphin appear in the pool
for an afternoon. A dolphin that could survive within the pool
water. Or water that wouldn't poison the dolphin. Rachel could
work out that detail later. She thought it would be fun to let the
dolphin speak a bit of english as well. But only obscure words.
Words she’d need to take the time to search for and find within
a dictionary.
- Chad Redden
Preparations
- Jonathan Aprea
Here is a Picture of Me Minding My Manners Earlier Today
I am the water fowl, the one with the pointy beak (the horny,
projecting jaw). In fact, I’m the water fowl with two pointy
beaks, one on either side of my head. I have two pairs of eyes
as well.
My two sets, each comprised of one beak and two eyes, are
more or less symmetrical. As I wriggle and dawdle through
water and grass, each set informs the other of the view from
the opposite side of my head.
- Is Sullivan
AMPHIPATHIC
- Rhea Smith
Very Human Aquarium
- Brice Maiurro
- Seth Berg
Yukon
- Cordelia Morgan
Man Shot, Killed in Oakland
- Joanna Anabo
BIOS
Bianca Niño is a latinx ghost girl that resides in tx and writes sometimes
and sleeps often, is soft but not weaponless. chips and salsa.
Brice Maiurro is a writer and poet from Denver, CO. His favorite party food
is Totino's Party Pizzas, before they made them square.
Performance poet Christine Hall was raised in a trailer at the edge of the
Adirondacks by cultist pornographers and troubadours. Her favorite party
food is strawberry shortcake.
Cordelia Morgan is a writer living in the Bay Area and founding editor of
the Snackbar Collective press. Her favorite party food is raspberries.
Donnie Martino is a social studies teacher based out of New Jersey. His
favorite party food is salt and vinegar chips. He can be found on Wordpress
at donniedontblog and Twitter at dmisunbreakable.
Is Sullivan lives in Portland, OR. They tweet @phlgem and eat @parties
bagel bites.
Kevin Ridgeway lives and writes in Long Beach, CA. His favorite party food
are party subs.
Maggie Grabmeier is from San Francisco, California, and her favorite party
food is salt & vinegar chips. She plays guitar and sings in a pop punk band
called The Total Bettys.
M; Margo needs to drink more water.
San Francisco chewed up and spat out Rhea Smith into the suburbs of
California. Always trying to return, she writes about her experiences on the
streets, and in the ever cliché but oh-so-popular romance with a science
bled twist. Her favorite party food is simple; but chips and dip will please
anyone, you'd think.
Seth Berg lives in Minnesota and his favorite party food = spicy-ass chixken
wings.
My name is Sierra Ventura from Castro Valley, CA. My favorite party food
is an exciting cookie tray.
My name is Theo Konrad Auer. I'm from Oakland, California and I like
salsa.
Thank you for reading be about it zine #15. Please check us out online! We
like to tweet sometimes at @baipress and we sometimes update our tumblr
with new poetry.