Category: Poetry

We all die in the third act. It’s a truth I carry around like a hot coal waiting for the right barbecue party to flip it on the family, show my blistered palms, marvel at the icy looks of surprise. Maybe after dessert, during...

stark remembrance of this room with twisted toil in blood, in bloom and skewed insanities all round that fade, fall, die without a sound   Jay Goldin works in academia and journalism. He has published poetry, fiction, film...

I did not cause the earth to orbit the sun; or the moon to orbit the earth. I did not put clouds in the sky, thunder and lightning, or cause rain to fall. I did not cause this shifting earth to create mountains, flowing rivers,...

You keep me in a corner By the door Or on a hook on the wall Next to the door, Or worse, Cramped in a dark closet Where I collect dust; Closed and shut-in Unnoticed and unappreciated, Like silence in a noisy room. I watch you...

The thinning of grey clouds To feathery fluff Floating apart until finally A full moon radiates Soft light beneath a dark velvet sky. A doe, her head held high, Ears up, Silently staring into the treeline Across the moonlit...

We met Buratta in a dish of sliced peaches ripe and white, sprinkled with basil and balsamic on toasted baguette in a narrow, sun-lit small-plates restaurant its entrance at its side, away from the street, in a brick-lined...

Poppies along a wall A cistern where birds Might dip their wings Your key is all that’s left. Once skies alight with birds before clouds tight with dust shadowed towns. Nothing left but stones and broken homes. children beneath...

Poppies along a wall, a cistern too, birds dip their wings. Your key is all that’s left. Once you saw skies alight with birds but clouds tight with dust scarred the town. Nothing’s left but stones and broken homes. Beneath dust...

threat of loss spills like a splash of oil on a hot pan. Burned in a flash yet pain lasts long as memory brushes the skin.

Our canoe cuts smoothly through the water, our bent paddles propelling us forward. I’m in the bow, my husband in the stern, so I can’t see his face when he tells me how proud he is of me, of the battle I wage daily against my...