Tina Privitera-Reynolds What Is It? It’s my Haight-Ashbury helmet, my Italian heirloom, my fiberglass insulation, my static cling, my gallery of caught crystal snowflakes, my dog days of napped summer, my knotted cursive language, my mind’s wavelengths outstretched, but most importantly, it’s my hair. Tina Privitera-Reynolds should be on the pavement clapped in a sandwich […]
Read MoreJ.R. Solonche Ice The ice thawing on the lake sings as it turns back to water again a song neither happy nor sad, but just a simple wordless tune for going home. J.R. Solonche is the author of eighteen books of poetry and co-author of one.
Read MoreSteve Klepetar A Green Country We are dreaming this, listening to flame as it eats wood with its teeth and translucent tongue. Steve Klepetar listens to Pandora while he walks in his nearly deserted neighborhood, glad not to explain why he wears a Yankees cap in Massachusetts.
Read MoreRobin Dellabough My Boy Home again for a moment, he rests in the sun face down, his head turned so I can see his shuttered eyes, notice the thickening hair covering his legs until in one sudden inhalation he is a man and I cannot ask him certain things, those questions will have to leave […]
Read MoreAaron Sandberg RC Plane We flew it for only a few days on weeks when I was yours with the help of the man from the VFW after buying it from a shop for more than we could afford until my interest faded fast and it hung in the rafters— frozen in flight—for me to […]
Read MoreF. John Sharp The Meaning of Adventure There is nothing like a backyard campout, where every sound is a bad guy or a bear, where you feel spiders and snakes that aren’t there, and where you don’t really care as long as you have snacks and a good flashlight. F. John Sharp lives and […]
Read MoreJon Densford Pandemic Lessons Unlike the proverbial Old Dog, I have learned to flip a light switch with either elbow and to lift a toilet seat with just one foot. Jon Densford is surviving, but he already misses John Prine.
Read MoreHilary Sideris East Ninth Street There is no sadness like a boarded-up mint green frame house, eyes, mouth nailed shut, putting its spin on Chris and Anne, who lived there seven years before they split and sold it at a loss. Many years ago, as a child with 20/20 vision in Indiana, Hilary Sideris […]
Read More