Steve Klepetar My Mother Had Five Faces On feast days, she pulled one out for carrying the celebration food, kept another for snarling in the kitchen, and there was one for anger at the shops, one for panic when the subway stalled between stations, and a distant, misty one to rub away her death dreams […]
Read MoreJessica de Koninck Entry from the Handbook of General Regrets When was the last time someone asked what you would like for breakfast or woke you with the scent of scones baking or buttermilk biscuits and read you the headlines, while you were already engrossed reading something else, and poured you a second cup of […]
Read MoreJudith Salcewicz Being Gliding on hard-crusted snow, my feet leave no mark until the sun-warmed surface caresses my sinking shoes and gives testament to my existence. Daily dog walks stimulate Judith Salcewicz ‘s creative muse.
Read MoreJosé Enrique Medina Faith The landscape was so silent, I could hear my heart’s beat repeating its two syllables, “Believe, believe.” Fe El paisaje era tan silencioso, yo podía escuchar el latido de mi corazón repitiendo sus dos sílabas, “Cree, cree.” When he is not writing, José Enrique Medina enjoys playing with his piglets, bunnies […]
Read MoreIan Willey A Show on A.I. The host says it’s only a matter of time before they render me me redundant. Ian Willey is a teacher and daydreamer from Akron, Ohio.
Read MoreDarrel Dionne Butterfly pinned, spread winged and motionless, Is precisely not a butterfly. Darrel Dionne is a retired social worker and part-time poet who writes a lot of one sentence poems.
Read MoreSarah White The Vanishing Weep for the tiny nematodes, diatoms, corals, and crustaceans lost though we don’t know most of their names yet, let alone how we’ll get along without them now that they’ve passed into extinction leaving homo sapiens, the knowing man, alone with his brain finding light waves from fourteen billion years ago […]
Read MoreJohn Grey Race-Car Driver He’s at the wheel, helmet for a head, fire-suit for a body, while large silver pipes like dragon mouths with roaring red breath pursue him on an oval track, lap after lap after lap. John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Fall/Lines, Euphony and Columbia Review with […]
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