Steve Klepetar A Different Name In the end it didn’t matter as it rose in the sky like a new star, and though at first we wondered and worried over signs, we soon forgot it was there, went back to our phones as if it were nothing at all, an object without the terrible weight […]
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Lyra Goga “Inside a Poem”
Lyra Goga Inside a Poem As we no longer talk please kiss this poem, our love cannot live elsewhere. Lyra Goga, an eternal student of literature, often writes poems in the middle of the night.
Read MoreTimothy Daly “No Pasa Nada”
Timothy Daly No Pasa Nada Algunos momentos sólo están destinados a ser disfrutados en la memoria. It’s Okay Some moments are only meant to be enjoyed in memory. Nobody explained to Timothy Daly that speaking different tongues meant living different lives.
Read MoreSteve Dodson “Biloxi #3”
Steve Dodson Biloxi #3 When the wind blows west from Keesler I hear Taps in the breeze. Steve Dodson is alive but no longer living in Queens.
Read MoreMaria de Jesus Ayala “Applause”
Maria de Jesus Ayala Applause When my mother fried chicken, it always sounded like applause. Maria de Jesus Ayala is a Chicana, bisexual poet from San Diego, CA.
Read MoreHilary Sideris “Cal”
Hilary Sideris Cal We four old children conference call from Santa Barbara, Brooklyn, Washington, Wausau, about our mom’s new friend Caldwell who goes by Cal and other tall strong men who don’t exist and never knock, but walk right in, then disappear with her diamonds. Hilary Sideris works for CUNY Start, a program for underserved, […]
Read MoreTimothy Daly “Remiendos”
Timothy Daly Remiendos Una buena noche de sueño, un café fuerte, piano al sol de la mañana, y estoy curado por ahora. Patches A good night of sleep, strong coffee, piano in the morning sun, and I am healed for now. Nobody explained to Timothy Daly that speaking different tongues meant living different lives. […]
Read MoreJuan Pablo Mobili “Aubade”
Juan Pablo Mobili Aubade They are coming back, yesterday it was the middle-aged groundhog sampling brown tufts from my garden’s cuisine, today is the slender fox walking briskly the length of my back fence longing for one last henhouse, we all go about our business, sighing for our losses, counting our blessings. Juan Pablo Mobili […]
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