Steve Klepetar Dream Fish A man fishes on a quiet lake in early morning mist casting out into the dark reflection of trees where dream fish rise, glistening in the silver sun. Steve Klepetar lives in the Berkshires in Massachusetts, which feels like a refuge in these dark times.
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Steve Klepetar “What the Sirens Sang”
Steve Klepetar What the Sirens Sang We are lashed to the mast, listening to the sirens sing of oil and coal and creatures dying in the shrinking woods. Steve Klepetar lives in the Berkshires in Massachusetts, which feels like a refuge in these dark times.
Read MorePushcart Nominee 2019: Steve Klepetar “On the Platform”
Pushcart Nominee 2019 Steve Klepetar On the Platform The train was late, so we stood on the platform staring down the track into darkness, and my father said “Don’t wish your life away,” said it with a slight smile, a little joke, a little wisdom I could have for free as I walked down to […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar “Honey Cat”
Steve Klepetar Honey Cat She fed him liver and cream, her wild familiar— bruised, bleeding killer of birds and in the sky a sickle, a scythe, and a boy falling from a great height, his hair aflame. Steve Klepetar watched two large deer stroll across the backyard just before the sun went down.
Read MoreSteve Klepetar “The Other Key”
Steve Klepetar The Other Key I was alone, rain beating windows black, alone with your voice as it echoed down the hall, alone, but not alone, book slipping from my hand, words like minnows scattering in the house of dreams where you held the other key. Steve Klepetar watched two large deer stroll across the […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar “Home Fires”
Steve Klepetar Home Fires We read our futures in fireplace flames listening to the snap of burning logs, eyes turning inward as we breathe sweet smoke, and after many hours we speak in a dead language incised on our tongues. Steve Klepetar’s father once told him that the Latin for “bang bang” was “bangum bangum,” […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar “Beyond Touch”
Steve Klepetar Beyond Touch Trees caught fire, sky rained ash, our hands were flame, eyes like coal burning in the grate, hair roaring in the wind, until we were beyond touch, all of us smoldering in the ruined land. Steve Klepetar watches the news every weekday at six with his hand over his face.
Read MoreSteve Klepetar “Between Us”
Steve Klepetar Between Us we forget the world so easily with a little wine some cashews and almonds in a glass bowl a violin concerto playing as we shut our ears to the day’s awful news. Steve Klepetar might just be the best known Shanghai-born Jewish-American writer of one sentence poems in all of Berkshire […]
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