Poetry - Year II - Number 8 - July 2017

    WITH HER By Judah Cricelli

    0
    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...

    THE PUSH By Clay Reed

    0
    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...

    INSTINCT By Chase Spruiell

    0
    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,...

    THE ASIAN SHOPKEEPER By Kay Merkel Boruff

    0
    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...

    THE PROPAGATION By Mark Young

    0
    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...

    SHUDDER, By Dustin Pickering

    0
    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...

    BLUE GRASS By Gabriella Garofalo

    0
    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...

    WATCHING THE SUN GO BY By Gareth Culshaw

    0
    WATCHING THE SUN GO BYBy Gareth Culshaw WATCHING THE SUN GO BY Her days were bythe window. An ornamentpainted by his hands. She...

    BREATHING By Bryan McCormack

    0
    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...

    ONE WEEK DAY WHILE WALKING By Jeremy Gadd

    0
    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...