RETURN BY FLETA VINCENT
When your voice
descended like an eagle’s
premeditated drop
without sound,
dead lived
Month: July 2017
IT’S A PLACE, A POEM, A STINK, A GRATING NOISE, A QUALITY OF LIGHT* BY MARIANNE LYON
Hills brown from arsenic
in copper smelter town
but most spring times
land shouts with grass
loved by winter snow melt
PREGNANT WITH LONGING BY FLETA VINCENT
When I was nine months full
with your baby sleeping
sound in the shelter
of my womb I was filled
with a lifetime of yearning
I WISH I LIKED TO FISH BY DAVID ARNOLD
When I catch one, Dad takes it off the hook and puts it in a bucket of cool water. After a while, he says time to go. We’ll turn the fish loose now he says. No, those are my fish. I want to take them home.
Read MoreDREAM IN FLIGHT BY LAURA BONAZZOLI
I fall.
A patchwork of squares:
russet, lime, and khaki, sewn with gold
somewhere west of Tulsa
and east of Wardell’s bar.
RACIAL REVELATION BY CAROL SEVERINO
When I got off the train at Valpo, I was surprised to see that my weekend hostess was an actual hippie. We hung out with her friends, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her tiny living room, smoking and drinking, talking about the war and civil rights, and listening to Jefferson Airplane.
Read MoreWHO WE BECAME BY JENNIFER EVANS
The mean boy who was selfish, and spiteful, and only ever cared about himself.
Read MoreCOWBOYS AND FISTFIGHTS BY BRAD DONALDSON
Coins slapped the soggy wood in front of me. I placed my empty bottle down and slouched on the bar, my bare elbows lying in spilt beer and cheap tequila.
Read MoreGRADUALLY. GRADUALLY. BY JEANNE JULIAN
How blues hardened into rock.
How your hair dried in the sun.
How fault lines settled into your brow.
THE CANDLE PARTY BY JEANNE JULIAN
what if she did not go home?
She snuffs the thought,
hardened into what she was,
but smaller.
YOGA IN THE GAZEBO BY JEANNE JULIAN
The teacher says,
“Observe the thought. Then let it float away,”
WASTED TIME BY LINDA EVE DIAMOND
Time awakens late—and slow.
Looks back—into a black hole.
