By Susan Phillips Jim was gone. He died a hero in the Great War and Sally would never see him again. Her last glimpse of him was in his coffin, lying peacefully in his uniform, with a few medals pinned on his chest. Just before the casket was closed, his…
By E. Laura Golberg She was a sturdy ballerina, now she’s like the tiny white mushroom that grows just above the grass, gills on top, open to every wind. Unlike me, her grandma, she still has years to live. Should my breathing falter, that plastic V below my nose, would…
By Gil Hoy SometimesYou have to say Farewell to another To say helloTo yourself.
By Pamela Wax —for Rob …at the still point, there the dance is. — T.S. Eliot There you are, baking breadbefore sunrise, kneadingits knots and sinews like a masseuse.You divine the dough’s perfect balancebetween a big-belly Buddhaand a contortionist, nudging…
By George Freek The moon is a crooked thumbnail,clawing through a hollow sky.I stare at the stars,obdurate as quartz or leadlike the mattress of my bed.The moon is hidden bythe withering leaves of a tree.Sympathy is rare.Compassion is a mystery.I feel like the crumbling ruinsof a marker in a cemeteryto…
By Allison Lay Every detail needed to be perfect for brunch this morning. I thrifted some vintage serving trays and a solid, black oak charcuterie board. I almost left without the expensive board, but it had called to me. It was a few inches thick, and there were some imperfections…
By Joan Mazza He said if you married a woman youngenough, you’d have time to mold her, fold herthe way you wanted. Origami tongue.He could train her like a vine, clipped and trimmedlike topiary. Mowed like a lawn.Younger was better, though a certain kindof clay was needed for her to…
By James Croal Jackson Perhaps divinity is in devotion– pages of textover thousands of years, eternal ramblingin the clockwork ticking the days to etch instone the wings I’d searched away, blindfaith in running water, erosion of the endlessnights I’d stay awake to eke out meaning.
By Jimmy Pappas We are bats at the mercy of young boysthrowing baseballs high into the nightsky under a streetlight causing us to chaseafter the movement only to swerve awayat the last second still searching for moths. & We are magicians’ helpersprivy to the secretsbut never findingthe adulation we crave….
By Jessie Raymundo For now let’s talk about sinkingcities, said my motherwho carries a pair of Neptunesin her eyes & paints about phantoms in Philippine poetry. Gravity is whenthe psychiatrist assessed you& heard a heart murmur like rain.In an instant, you were in the sea: a merman sticking his headabove…