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Literary Bohemian’s current issue is BYOB, a literary party where “RSVP[s] will be analyzed for errata.” I imagine party-goers huddled around a fire pit as they share stories about stalking a would-be lover in Laurie Byro’s “Tetraimeros“, about following the circus in “Learning to Travel” by Julene Tripp Weaver, and about the intimacy of shorn hair in R. Nemo Hill’s “Foreigner’s Haircut.” The peculiar wonder of travel is evident, including its opposite in the refusal to depart of RL Swihart’s “The Fortress“:

They were happy in Lübeck. They crossed out every fifth day and repeated the others twice. Instead of an onion he’d peel an orange and she’d sit and listen. Instead of a fish she’d hold up an eel or boletus and they’d end by making love.

She’d gather and wash the stones then he’d etch the Tor or lions into the stones’ flat faces and place them in the window for sale. The stones piled up, eyes shined and hands fumbled, but the door never opened.

Orange, eel, boletus. Stones piling up. Within a year—by whose measure—even sunlight failed to find an entrance. Mortar was the last step before they disappeared.

Then there is what it’s like to miss the departed in William Males’s “Anders’ Place“:

Anders has everything I want in a man except sugar.

Once, my brother and I were on a hunt together, and there were good-looking hunters from South Carolina in the next tent. One stood in the opening and asked if they could borrow coffee. Jim said they could, If you’ll give me some sugar, so the guy kissed him.

I could kiss Anders, no problem. It’s good to be with men you can kiss and hug and rub. We have major problems being human. But Anders falls below the horizon sometimes. I have to call. I understand that now. I have to do the calling.
This morning he got up and went to work and left me here among his things. He has let me into his life, and I have let him into mine.

Later, I’ll let in his cat, Felicia. She loves me with a passion. This is rare, Anders says. Felicia doesn’t bond much.

Day is dawning on our dirty dishes. I get up, make my coffee, drink it black.

Literary Bohemian stays true to its mission of “First Class Passage to All Destinations,” offering writing as enchanting and vibrant as any exotic locale.