Author: admin

Hepworth’s hands when young: a study in black and white like Georgia O’s, supple and lean, fine lines in plaster, later cast in bronze.   Alan Catlin has published dozens of chapbooks and full-length books on a wide variety...

A misting rain conceals the difference between night and day

She is at your favorite diner, & Denny’s & Steak Haus, & 99 Restaurant, enthusiastic, scritch-scratching an old-school note pad with a smile at every request. Subtly Estée Laudered, she leans in tight and says, Hon,...

I learned to count my breath instead of years, to live by increments the body keeps— a pulse, a pause, the courage to stay here when silence hums too loudly to be sleep. The world prefers a cleaner narrative: the healed, the...

last day of November only 21 degrees out sweater over flannel over pajamas two space heaters pulled in from the garage got coffee blanket cat on my lap what will I do when true winter descends   Jennifer Gurney lives in...

on a day when I’m looking for signs 27 is everywhere on street signs the entire drive home from my grief support group and the temperature has been exactly 27 for literally all day I see you I hear you I feel you it makes...

I can still taste the last key lime pie I made for us the crunch of the crust the tang of the filling the sweet in each bite like you sweet with the salty if you know what I mean will I ever make another key lime pie without you...

Light as light bantering milkweed feather brushing kettle drum parakeet nuzzling cuttlebone that afternoon in St. Mark’s Square and no one recognized us no, no one noted or noticed our chaff.   Lois Marie Harrod’s l9th...

The body changes so when the river sucks it in. I thought I was Orpheus’s head floating down the Hebrus still singing, but I was not singing— my sweet wrist pale and swollen and the hand that held the pen gone. For a tongue, a...

. . . and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. Hamlet She lent him her night but he kept it in the unfinished garage with the tin cans of rusty screws, the empty Mason jars bequeathed by his mother and the hedge clippers too...

Last night the Angel came again and demanded as he had long ago, Write, Caedmon, write the Creation, and what could the old cowherd do but sign up next to last, 32 of 33, and slide onto the one empty metal chair and watch his...