by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
by Jonathan Cooper In the laneway’s narrowing lightrestaurant workers clutch at coats,plastic bags sagging with personal effects.The doorman curses and fretsat the forgotten family photo, taped insidehis staff locker, smiling into the darkas men pound nails into plywood,closing every way in—every way out.
by Jonathan Cooper The ferry washed low in the baywater swirled the piles,gurgled the barnacles. I saw her from the deck facing away,stone stillon the salt-shimmered bow. Horn blast! I bolted for the hatchfumbled for keys, looked back— black wingsetched againstthe pale, blue sky.