by Stuart Gunter We’re putting the world into our bodies. Food becomes who you are. – Rene Redzepi Every bite, every morsel becomes us, Mount Ararat into our mouths, our mother’s family tree our breakfast. The time we hiked into the Grand Canyon, laid claim to the first wet kiss…
by Dennis Daniels Blanz Valentine is an average guy who works on an assembly line of Ford Manufacturing Company. He fancies himself as the companies counselor who has all the answers for everyone’s problems. Many see him as the man behind the bar that they bring their troubles to for…
by Lisa Harris Hijacked— shadows recede and light breaks open in a sunrise and later dissolves on the horizon as it sets. Light shatters when a bulb falls on the floor at our feet. Shards are swept beneath a rug. They work their way through fabric to cut the feet…
by David Tuvell We’ll live in dim half-light before we sleep: this perfect Colgate slush where rocks are buoys romancing the coming moon above. We’ll tread this exhausted paddle, proving life- preserver love. We’ve fallen hard for vinyl siding, that sure-fire sale from Sears, the lines of easy converts that…
by Stuart Gunter Written on the back of an old grocery list. Between Muriel Spark’s “The Goose” and Kestenbaum’s Subaru. Between being somewhere and going places. Now here: a poem within a poem, like a rose petal pressed in a Bible as a keepsake for a future art project using…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey I was about to see her again, worry a fist pressing at the back of my neck when I drew up to her front door, in my heart still that flicker of home. Inside the only aunt I had left, a dear soul so close to my…
by David Tuvell You know me, if words hit harder than crack, I’d push them, blow up blocks. Small talk can’t see me. What you’re suggesting, though, there’s no right way to do it. The idea’s like carrying my wallet in the wrong pocket. Sure, to keep a secret, you…
by Lisa Harris A square, a cross, and four directions place us in space and make us stable. We are fixed in a stillness that draws our energy in. Seeking a haven, we read signs and symbols silently. We want a house to hold us the way we hold each…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey On perfect days if you looked through the small oval window you could see an old woman sitting by herself inside her darkened home, a duplex by the road, no front yard but a patch of yellowing grass untouched by the spring. Seldom did fingers of light…
by David Tuvell In the beginning was the text, which had an argument with silence, and this birthed god into the air. There’s a running argument between god and yahweh, between trees and breezes, between Dickinson and Ashbery. We have set up camp here, in a Japanese zen garden, and…