Three poems by Brian Jobe

In Vento et Rapida Aqua

• Even if her words could be written
• on wind and rapid water,
• they were seductive and sussurant —
• and electric. I sought her
• again and again, wanting to be bitten
• again, to feel the current.

Light Shineth in Darkness

• Whenever we played Scrabble,
• we used an old Crown Royal
• bag of purple felt to grabble
• in dark chaos for each new tile.

Whether You Call It a Glutton, a Carcajou, or a Skunk Bear, this Beast Is Fierce in

• Any Language
• Gulo gulo makes you sick — catch
• a whiff of that anal stink
• and you may claw your own face
• off. Fast enough to chase
• a lynx, so tenacious it won’t blink
• from a bear. It has thick,
• oily fur to keep warm and wick
• away water. Stocky. About
• a foot tall at the shoulder, snout
• to tail, three: a Quickhatch.

Brian Jobe studied Latin and Greek at the University of Washington and the University of California at Santa Barbara. He teaches liberal arts at the City University of Seattle. His poetry has been published at National Review, Letter X Magazine, and Dappled Things.