Category: Poetry
-
Regrets Heard at the Afterparty
by Daniel Edward Moore We could have brought an expensive Merlot to the supper called his last, …
-
Eve’s Late Revelation
by Morrow Dowdle There is another story behind the tree,a second fruit eaten at the snake’s behest. First there was the apple, pink and sweet,yielding to my perfect teeth. I was naked and free! And then the red pomegranate,more difficult to access, but I did, forced it open in my two fists, its blood coveringmy…
-
Alienation’s First Visit
by Nidhi Jha I am midair in an escalator between the country that named me and the one that mispronounces it. Sunsets reversed themselves. My shadow lagged behind. Alienation said hello as if it had always owned my name. I rolled up my sleeves as if blood could testify. Alienation does not travel alone. In…
-
Falling In
by Lawrence Bridges We work for Kronos Seam Captureand Affiliates, specializing in bending timeinto a line-chasm where responsibleand opportunistic adults and teens falleach workday. The seam looks like headlightson trees in an early morning January commuteor postponed and frozen home tasksfor the remoters when they finally smell the coffee.Harrowingly, artists play the falllike a rack…
-
twilight wherever i’m going, with confession and mourning
by Zixiang Zhang walk your shadow across the feldspar of our mother’s orogen,her grits beveled, though light softensa tine fracture— i am worn with pleasures the old continent sheds.massifs rise & sink for wear & i, seeking orthogneiss despite lava sheddingcrysts & crypts making their nudes undress, want into telling; i walk past facies of…
-
Eternal Life
by John Schellhase I remember going into a voting booth, the bluetruncated curtains rustling by my hair, my hand on my father’s jeans, the shoes of the other votersvisible around us. When we left, the sky was dark – the night falls early in November – and the cloudswere moving across the face of the…
-
Breaking Camp
by Michael Lauchlan Young parents caught in the hot,improbable grappling of marriage,we heaved into a dumpster a largemisshapen chair, filling our lungswith what remained of the week’s trashand years of curdled grease.We turned toward each other,toward a beach we’d all but forgotten,toward what we couldn’t hope to recognize–a footpath leading here. Your fatherhad taken some…
-
A Family Portrait
by Cecil Morris We poured our only daughter in the seawhere we’d left my father three years before.My wife held to me, I held to our son,and he upended the bag, her cremains,the grit and gosh of her, there where the seaseethed against the rocks, the waves in turmoilof coming, going, coming, rush and suckand…