Category / Issue #52 November 2015

EDITOR’S NOTE

Readers: Welcome to Plume Issue # 52 –   October/November: Yes, you have read that correctly, but may have inferred that we have gone to a bi-monthly format – most assuredly not the case. Nor a double issue. Instead, merely

Caravaggio’s Supper | Sa…

Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus They were tired and hungry when they found themselves just outside the village now known as Abu Ghosh, for centuries a place for wayfarers. A roasted fowl was on offer, the round-faced innkeeper told them, &

Cora Goes Birding | Kate Falve…

This was a bad idea. The creepers in this marsh are thick with secret whispers; they stick together, resenting intrusions. They flick their slick fronds, ensnaring unsure ankles and muddying the mazy path. She is after Red-necked grebes and Glaucous

Club X | Philip
Metres

Club X, Before the Bridges Lift (Two Views) Between the gaping double-doors of Club-X and two leather thugs, a cardboard babe hoists head-sized steins before each suggested breast. I want to enter, be hauled into the mouth, haul it all

Dream Sender | David Huddle

for Jim Diehr Tonight you’re soaring fearlessly over Prague while speaking Portuguese with your dad, but last night that man you never should have smiled at lay beside you in bed touching your left breast and murmuring, “What’s your name?”

Naked City | Ron
Slate

Apprehended in Herald Square carrying the head of his sister-in-law by her sprung hair.  Hoop earrings.  He said, I’m trapped in a story I heard. Unsure of motive, the DA couldn’t say where the accused, striding through the streets, was

Paean for the Players | April …

Paean for the Players   The pale actor’s mouth opens oddly, an envelope filled with ink, no teeth. The effect seems apt for the tormented Prince who gouts words onto the thick cream paper of the air; we see down

Two Poems | Dore Kiesselbach

Oak I sat at it, a good table—one of a number of respectable pieces they managed to keep out of the weather, until it lost whatever appeal it had had for them, until the disintegration of the marriage gathered enough

Two Poems | Christopher Howell

MASEFIELD IN PURGATORY   Falls and stays flemished, lifts and braces squared, we came in on the neap under a single scrap of sail. How long had we been out and where, the wharfinger did not ask.  He could see

Two Poems | Lance
Larsen

A Few Estrogen Stories to Help Balance the Scales Imagine half a million Vietnamese up to their heinies slogging rice paddies for a year, and you have the salary of the Lakers’ starting five. Imagine France in 1681: half of

Undersong | G.C.
Waldrep

lintel/cromlech, arch & splay five-finger’d, the soul pours as thrum anoint/bequest, earth’s                                     certitude blooded in Name, touch to affliction,        (—gyre) dim quern of the body prelates a grain lichen can’t safely suffer, unislanded        as is all flesh absent God we

Untitled | Ralph
Angel

it’s harder to be patient when you’re helpless things make of themselves memorable my own face forbids it ten-thousand windmills exhausted and visible smoke rose like smoke from a chimney “where will the thicket be?”   like an umbrella on

Urban Renewal | Major Jackson

XXVIII. Vermont ii. Outside my window, a brutal winter burn has curled rhododendron leaves to clusters of tight brown wilts. Tobacco-colored, they hang where white lilacs and pink azaleas blush to spring’s myth of resurrection. A maple sapling sprouts erect