Debra Murphy Fireflies I want to write about the time I drove by the field in Gettysburg at night and the fireflies filled the darkness with a thousand points of light, as if the Milky Way had descended, stars flying low to the ground. Debra Murphy hitchhiked to Cape Cod over 50 years ago and […]
Read MoreRichard Long Requiem for French Horn and Clarinet The other day I saw Rāfe on the shoulder of a road, holding a pistol like a French horn, not like back in the day when he rode on the rack of my bike, facing traffic, playing his instrument and I would stop to play along on […]
Read MoreRichard Long The Long Now at Marine Crossing I think my father was the ghost on the grate of the bridge from Parris Island to Beaufort standing at attention as the sky draped around him like loose-fitting dress blues who as I passed clicked his heels right-face so he could follow me into town the […]
Read MoreRichard Long After Being Long Gone When I rode into the valley of a slide guitar, a tambourine, my past congregation whirling in a yard of hoedown, I remembered my pastor telling me there’ll come the day after being long gone I’d come to miss the potluck of dumplings, collards, and pie, the girl leaping […]
Read MoreTerri Kirby Erickson Sorrow Bird It feels as if my face is not my face, anymore, but an origami, a sorrow bird that flaps its wings to no avail—unable to fly—a song caught fast in its paper throat. Terri Kirby Erickson is the author of six collections of poetry, including A Sun Inside My Chest […]
Read Moredeb y felio Sixty Days I wonder where outrage will be when the march is done, the headlines shift to another casualty, justice and maybe gasoline are too costly for your neighbor, and the ice cream machine is out of order. deb y felio finds forgetfulness surprisingly new every day.
Read MoreTodd Mercer Modest Aspirations My friend the guitarist brought over an album called “We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank,” so we taught ourselves hooks and solos like those until the wee hours, planning the quick rise of a band we’d form and later split from over creative visions and a strange shortage of […]
Read MoreHowie Good Evening Walk I’m walking along a narrow strip of dirt, a kind of no man’s land, between bare woods and the roadway, darkness falling fast, as if every little town has its share of evil, when I just happen to look up and see the bulge of new buds on dead-seeming branches, the […]
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