Wisps

Woman’s white hair
wisps across like fog
on mountain top
lifting, trailing mist,
mop of paralyzed
particles hiding eyes.

Bridge ends
in reflection
disturbed by wind;
ripples span
to opposite shore.

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Prescience

Prescience The sky’s a graveyard full of ghosts and fossils. No one’s dared to bury barley; it hasn’t rained in thirty days. Neither almanac nor bible tells how to predict an ending. I thought I understood the lifespan of a star, but I was wrong: their deaths are expanding, infinite; I’m the thing inconsequential, impermanent. […]

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Chairs Rest

Chairs Rest Like old married couple almost holding hands two lawn chairs rest at lake’s edge. Arms spread in anticipation of sunset each evening before frogs launch into serenade, and waves lap against shore; sound of kissing. Diane Webster‘s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life, nature or an overheard phrase […]

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Becoming Eve

Becoming Eve My mother wanted me baptized with the middle name of Eve. It was 1953. The priest would not hear of it. In a covert nod to Church authority, she settled on the diminutive of “Evelyn.” I can’t recall exactly when she shared this anecdote with me. I do know I was old enough […]

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Panning

Jake Zawlacki currently writes and lives in the California Bay Area. He has been published in The Citron Review, Riggwelter, Eunoia Review, Gravel, Litro and many others. Panning “Godammit.” “What?” “My damn hearing aid fell out.” The two had been panning for gold. Manzanita and red shank covered the shale mountain. The stream struggled through the […]

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