Nancy Scott Late in My Diversity I keep forgetting that I might return to the pre-Solstice poem, to the paragraph about hope and hunger, to the same furniture after the tarps come off, to long and short sleeves, to lists and railings, to juggling shoulds and can’ts, to wondering what will fall, to weather and […]
Read MoreLaura Winkelspecht Defibrillator Training We watch under fluorescent lights learning to restart a faulty heart, while I fret about the day I must hold the paddles to the chest of Joe in Accounting with his red face and big laugh or maybe the woman in the lunchroom who eats Lean Cuisine while playing solitaire on […]
Read MoreElizabeth Alford Wisps of October The night we made s’mores at the dining room table— toasting marshmallows on the ends of pretzel sticks over unscented tea candles, watching bubbling balls of fire gradually transform into charred, crispy, gooey ghosts of their former selves which we ate smooshed between graham crackers and half each of a […]
Read MoreElizabeth Alford Poetry Will Not Come Today Poetry will not come today— not if I whistle, not if I whoop, not if I whimper, as if to a dog that does not wish to be found: how it slinks through shadows edging moonlit sidewalks and abandoned back alleys, paws to the ground, nose to the […]
Read MoreElizabeth Alford Saucy Haiku When pizza is love, your hot cheesy perfection preheats my oven. Elizabeth Alford (Hayward, CA) usually writes poetry on her laptop, but in its absence, will settle for her cell phone. See more of her work @ Facebook.com/ElizabethAlfordPoetry
Read MoreElizabeth Alford Carbon Dating I am cusping on thirty and that moment in every woman’s life when her eggs develop a half-life. Elizabeth Alford (Hayward, CA) usually writes poetry on her laptop, but in its absence, will settle for her cell phone. See more of her work @ Facebook.com/ElizabethAlfordPoetry
Read MoreJen Pinnow What he wants to ask me What if you were asked to affirm it all, the new sheet rock and the raspberries and the miscarriage and the sun in March and the peeling floor and the surging, angry garden, and you said: okay. Jen Pinnow is a medical writer by day; a baker, […]
Read MoreKeith Nunes Somewhere in between I’m 56 and too old to be a son, on average too young to die. Keith Nunes lives beside Lake Rotoma where they both do a great deal of reflecting.
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