by James Croal Jackson I found you at the bottomof the stairs looking up to whatI thought was me but past metoward the white ceiling thatconceals the sky where wehave watched the birds oftengo to a better place whenthe temperature dropsI held you in my handsstill warm in your finalmoments…
by William Heath Beware the strange attractorthat bubbles in the pot,makes the smoke curl upfrom the butt in the ashtray.Have you wondered whythe weatherman so often getsit wrong, or the healthy heartbreaks into wild fibrillations? Chaos is a far cry frommere randomness. High above our headsa tempestuous ballerinaperforms upon a tightrope,she…
by Jasmine Janelle Royer She walks with her head suspended in tree canopies, never casting her eyes below the silver lining of the existence her God displays for her as shewakes to meet the sun, come morning.She is a brown angel glowing from within the deep base of a body sighing from strengthwhen…
by William Heath After the game there is alwaysa soc hop in the gym: we dancethe stroll, the funky slop, the jitterbug,the bunny-hop, and still find time to twist and shout. Bill Halley, a kisscurl on his forehead, starts us allrocking around the clock, girls wettheir pants screaming at a…
by Jasmine Janelle Royer I remember puberty.She was a foe at 11;ripped open the seamsthat held my shameand let it loose;ferocious and starving.Red like wineas it clawed its wayfrom my nethers to belowmy thighs, stained flesh.Followed by the wideningof my hips into canyons,the fullness of my lipsleft a plenty, for my…
by Lucia Cherciu Which good deeds count?What do we list on the professional development form at the gate?When I garden and collect slugs is that cruelty?You don’t have to gloat. I am researching if you can eat bindweedbecause it keeps coming upamong the broccoli.It turns out you can eat it, but…
by Jasmine Janelle Royer I wonder if the Father Cardinal pondered death upon his encumbered flight- laden with sorrow like the gold of a king-back to his mother‘s nest after allhis years of rearing to winged babes;which one could not forget, a heavy plight. If the pain fluctuated like a…
by Joan Mazza On this cold December morning when the firein the woodstove keeps dying, I think of dragonsand their shape, how one could appear at any time with breath that would astound me. I amble downthe stairs to feed the beast another log, to fusswith embers, twigs, and another…
by John Grey As the model posed on an attic divan,the artist’s brush fought tirelesslyagainst the two dimensions of the canvas,to convince the eyethat there were really three. Then he waged war against her surfaces,gave what he saw as her true selfmore attention in the portraitthan the simple bow of…
by Nolo Segundo If you really want to join the Club of the Old,there’s not much you have to do–just stay alive and wait—andone day—it will seem sudden–you’ll stop lying to yourself—andyou’ll accept the mirror’s wordas truth (for what mirror can lie?)and on that saddest day you’ll say(though still only…