Poetry

WITH HERBy Judah Cricelli  Three is few,One is two, Her crease, and hue,The halogen flickers when I amWith her.Drips with dew,Mud-freckled shoe,Scuffed knees, hers too, The playground goes silent when I am With her. Carpet is soft, An ocean of...

THE PUSHBy Clay Reed DynamicAfter Denise Duhamel Having a child changes a relationship,at least that’s what our friends with childrenhave told us several times.“It changes the dynamic!” they say,acting as if they are letting us inon...

INSTINCTBy Chase Spruiell instinct I look a dog dead in the eye.He squeaks. He squirms. But he stays where he is.Like the infantry. Like the front line. Stupid, a follower. Frozen, unable to thinkor move. Petrified.Instinctually stuck.An empty sack of fur.He knows...

THE ASIAN SHOPKEEPERBy Kay Merkel Boruff  The Asian Shopkeeper My eyes adjust to the darkness,a darkness crowded with antiques splayed in discord.Candles silhouette artists’ legacies rendered as torn war offerings.Lệy allows me to wander, willing me...

THE PROPAGATIONBy Mark Young The Mackerel Fish school whenthe moon is out. Be-fore. Separate. Atvarious levels withdisparate meanings.States of grace. Wait-ing for the cast of lightacross the surface of the water. On app-earance drawn to it.Coalesce, luminescent.In the...

SHUDDERBy Dustin Pickering  Shudder Love, shudder and face me:look at these cold, keen eyesand terrify them.Make sound into lightand drive each fault down harder into my heart. I am numb with confusionand this madness makes me ineptat...

BLUE GRASSBy Gabriella Garofalo God, why have you got so many souls? In the deepest blue of your existence No, you think and shout, no – Even stones fear beasts and kids Trees stifle branches A red lamp measures time...

WATCHING THE SUN GO BYBy Gareth Culshaw WATCHING THE SUN GO BY Her days were bythe window. An ornamentpainted by his hands. She would watch the sunmove along the terracedhouse. Turning the time from west to east.A sack...

BREATHINGBy Bryan McCormack    BreathingThe father’s breathing steadiedto a light,sputtering hum.Outside his door, the sonlistened carefully, ingesting the hum’svibrations, producing another sputterin his eardrums.It was like this before, when the son was a boy,and it continues...

ONE WEEK DAYWHILE WALKING By Jeremy Gadd    One week day while walking downWattle Street, I heard a cry thatbrought me to a halt in mid-stridelike a prisoner shackled to a wall,and my heart missed a beat,...