Richard 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 […]
Read MoreEric Jenkins Sleepless in March 2020 That first night when the coughing from the baby monitor woke us, all we could do was hold one another, listen, and use our shirts to dry our cheeks. Eric Jenkins writes, teaches, and enjoys getting lost in the woods of central Indiana with his wife and two daughters. […]
Read MoreEric Jenkins Pull Back, Push Forward We call it a swing set, this seat that, at first, needs a push from someone to reach new heights above the clouds, which starts together but ends with a lonely leap into the mulch. Eric Jenkins writes, teaches, and enjoys getting lost in the woods of central Indiana […]
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