by Sam Barbee Silence, our first lie. We perch pacified, feastingwhen fed. Ignore plagues and storms outsidefavorite outlet stores. Mediocre menaces inside.Nothing allowed to interrupt our next shopping spree. We grasp self-assured bounty. Seed by seed yieldsuncherished. Flourishing timber now blunt-cut boughs.We shell-out admission to Joni’s Tree Museum. Pilgrimage there in…
by T.J. Masluk Neighbors mostly young— seen from my porch, washing their cars, trimming the leafy hedge, iPhoning Mister and Missus Jones. Me? old and languid, whiling away the hours staring at darkened factory windows, remembering Main Street, magical shops and immigrant folk I see (and hear) even now through the eyes of…
by Huina Zheng We eat the vegetables my grandmother picks up from the market every day. Leaves that are rotting, yellowing, wilted like used tissues, vendors toss them aside, and she bends down to gather them into her bamboo basket. She says appearance is the least valuable thing in the…