Category: Poetry

Is it murder to kill a plant you have loved for 20 years, watered, dusted the exotic leaves, trimmed and fluffed, treated for powdery mildew? My green obsession is a remnant from an angry man I lived with who kept me small so he...

Some people drop quarters in now, not just pennies like they used to. When I was a kid, a quarter was gold. It bought five candy bars or five bags of M&Ms. A baby tooth under my pillow, tied in the knot of my cotton...

After the leaves fall, I can see the neighbors’ house. People I don’t know who live on the other side of the woods. When walking my field with the dogs before bed, I notice someone stays up late, a distant window glowing through...

in Concert at the Church Hall at Easter Their souls became the music scaling merry eighth notes set in triple meter time the aging minister bowed over his graceful fingers rippling the grand white grin of the keyboard unaware...

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...