Category / Issue #51 September 2015

A Few Years After a Death | Pe…

Toward sunfall, when I begin to count the light’s last leave-takings on the grass, startled at how quickly night descends, distinguishing the caterpillar from the live oak it devours instant after instant: I hear you, through the mockingbird, her shrill

As It Happens | Phillis Levin

As it happens, there was nothing left, so much to do, a plethora Of urgencies, an unguent unglued. As it happens, everyone who wanted something had nothing to gain, Nothing to lose, given the plenitude, given the remorse. As it

The Good Hand | Julie Bruck

  Often, without warning, my left hand becomes a claw, like a drawstring’s been pulled from forearm to fingers. I have to press the hand flat, hard against the nearest book, to restore the head’s dominion.   Yes, it hurts

Gusto | Molly

  Skin the asparagus for their lives, whip the eggs, parmesan and chives… …miming your zest with my zeal. Once, we shared a restaurant meal with gusto!  Decades ago.   Now I prepare this food with gusto: slice the baby

The Last Orgasm | Nin Andrews

  after Mark Strand’s “Fiction”   Sometimes I think of the innocent lives of orgasms, of how they know they will die but not exactly how. Like prisoners of war before a firing squad, I imagine them lining up happily

Let Me Hear You | Alan Shapiro

  I am the disappearing point of an inverted pyramid made from the two before me, and the four before them whom I know as only names and snapshots, and farther back not even that, a total namelessness fans out

The Mystery | Alicia Ostriker

  1. The mystery of our time is the addiction to violence we understand the blossoms returning to dirt in August but not this we understand the dying of the light but not the shooting or the beheading Open it

Three Poems | Krzysztof Jawors…

Self-Portrait to Be Used in Meditation   I have a live owl in my mouth instead of words; you can’t get a peep out of me until after it gets dark. Might I here greet the people of China, who

Two Poems | Timothy

BOTTOM FEEDER   Said he had some hard sledding to do. Flatware so cheap you could bend the handles back, no telekinesis required. I’m not saying it wasn’t charming. I’m just not saying it was. Had the kind of smile

Two Poems | Scott Withiam

The Elms Workers were cut; had to be done for . . . corporations were individuals? As I had been. As I was taught so well, individuals could become anything, but dizzying was the corporate height, their haughty spread. Yet

Uncle | Peter

    Here is the man who tells you prison’s like Vietnam: always that fear of “up the river.” Here is the man some people wanted dead and had reasons standing in his living room and holding his picture. Here

The Wayfarer | Cynthia Hogue

One must turn thoughts to the displacement of a voyage, cultivate the mind to under- take travel’s long discomfort and insecurity such as tripping down stairs as you look up, and adapt the parlance of malediction and misunderstanding for the