Category / Issue #55 February 2016

Editor’s Note

Readers: Welcome to Plume Issue # 55 – February: A cold snap here in Florida as I write – 42 degrees last night. I know. But remember: we also have Rick Scott (who has denied the ACA again and emptied

Poem to Circe IV | José Manue…

Ancient bronzes, we reached the sea. Missing is the man who says: the sea is mine. Under this sea Phoenician amphorae sleep their languid female curves. Do you know amphorae? Have you seen their figure, their elegance? Beneath the waters

Song a Year After My Mother’…

I allowed a small song to nestle between my breasts. It was furtive, a ground squirrel occasionally checking the wind. I thought it could not grow on wine and despair. It didn’t. On the one sunny day in a rainy

City Harbor | Carol Frost

How often we come to a headland and a city opens, as when mid-region stars in the Milky Way cast shadows, and the Great Rift appears—                                     migration, a swarm, an exceeding leap. Where dogmen rode the crane hook into the

Ode to Roadside Shrines | Barb…

I first see you in Crete, little boxes on four skinny legs,             nestled in an olive orchard on the dirt road, with rain soaked and sun faded pictures of a saint             or Mary or even Jesus with his crown of

Hunger Abstract | Devin Johnst…

A black cat in search of breakfast flowed along the path beneath our window and by its mute current woke the mews from dreams of tearing meat to irritable molt a peregrine aloof and ill-at-ease singing a soft cack-cack through

The Day | Thomas Lux

Day I didn’t blink and the day was gone. Day I woke up on an anatomist’s table, Day my mother, her head on the dayroom slab… Day sails appeared, and then disappeared. No rain came one day for 200. Man

Houses | Alan Shapiro

Under the cold light of the chintzy white crown chandelier, I’d lean one upright card against another to form an A without the cross bar. I called it a room but it looked more like a see- through teepee or

Elephant Memory | Gail Mazur

A cold sunny morning in Cambridge. Pragmatical realists, my friend and I out strolling along Mass Ave when  suddenly we saw a colossal elephant ambling in our direction, padding slowly north, on its own, past the modernist law school dorms,

The Movie My Murderer Makes | …

My murderer sits in row F, seat 3, just behind my wife and me, in row E, seats 3 and 4. Seinfeld finishes his last bit, something about the unfortunate slits between the walls of bathroom stalls, and how they

Winkles & Dillisk | Ron S…

Does he suspect the boys             who sell him the tin cans, the cable, the planks and nails, that they steal the stuff back                         at night then sell it again?             He can wheelbarrow a load of bricks all the way to

Two Poems | Geoffrey Young

GET ON YOUR PONY AND RIDE You are under the impression that my poems Inspect the baroque business       Of being in the world (dawn light, texture Of clothes, bare feet on stairs, hand Skimming a railing), that they assay What

Reviews | Greta Stoddart

Greta Stoddart’s Alive Alive O In this month’s installment, reviews editor Adam Tavel examines an English poet’s third book.   Alive Alive O by Greta Stoddart Bloodaxe Books Ltd. $24, 64 pages published June 2015   Greta Stoddart’s third poetry


By way of introduction to this month’s Featured Selection of poems by Emmanuel Moses, translated by Marilyn Hacker, we present an introductory interview with our own Associate Editor for Special Projects, the estimable Nancy Mitchell, followed by the work itself