The anniversary of his death is the cruelest fishhook. Yanking us back, violently. When the days turn crisp, as they have now, when summer fades and autumn crawls into our tiny farming town—that’s when we most grieve our fallen classmate. One year we tried to ignore the date, but the hook came anyway and somehow was even more brutal. So now we meet it head on: we make a day of it. The downtown is strewn with somber-black ribbon. Coffee is shared and then, later, whiskey. We pass the yearbook, we muse, we moan. If a stranger such as you wanders by, the story is told in fullest detail.Read more "Our Danny Petoskey"
August Garden Overgrown, ravaged with insects, humming incessant sun, the lot of it buckles, sucks, sags and slumps toward autumn — all bursting, come to fruition, seeking divisions between sex and sex and death — breathing last breaths, heaving its seed toward next season. Stephen Jackson [he/him] lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. His […]Read more "August Garden"
Wrapped Tight Ball of string wrapped tight and tidy yearns to fling itself in a direction to unravel massiveness into feathery strand beckoning in wind for more length to discover more paths no worries of finding way back or to dangle like trapeze swinging back and forth inviting acrobats to fly unlike ball of string […]Read more "Wrapped Tight"
Brother, Can You Spare The Time? To be fully present for the sensation of a moment where you can discover what lies behind the human masquerade, and have the chance to make everything in your life new again. You’ll uncover grief, sorrow and passion in the sensing of the body armor. The tragic spiritual mediocrity […]Read more "Brother, Can You Spare The Time?"
Barred From The Hive The birds have gone to sleep tonight And after more nights the unnecessary drones Will be homeless, barred from the hive, Buzzing around the discarded soda bottles And trying not to die but verily dying While I lie here waiting out another year Of my lifecycle Alone Alone, Barred from the […]Read more "Barred From The Hive"
Ode to the Library Imagine the ideas that float around, some sticking to the stacks like kites caught in power lines. Some gummy on the shelves after decades of disuse. Some so juicy you could scrape them into a blender for a smoothie to sell at the fair near the merry-go-round. Or the hands that […]Read more "Ode to the Library"
Seven Women In Line at the Pharmacy at Dusk We are quiet and courteous. The woman with Tylenol lets the bent-over woman go in front with a cart full of incontinence briefs. A man tends the scanner and register. His shirt tail needs tucking in at the back and his hair could use a slicking […]Read more "Seven Women In Line at the Pharmacy at Dusk"
Franco Amati received his B.A. in Psychology and is working on his Ph.D. in Cognitive Science. He lives in New York with his partner and two cats. Obsolescence Leon booted me up today. He needed to transfer some files to his new device. It felt good to wake up again. Took a while to get going, […]Read more "Obsolescence"
John Delaney retired as curator of historic maps at Princeton University Library, and moved out to Port Townsend, WA. He’s traveled widely, preferring remote, natural settings, and is addicted to kayaking and hiking. In 2017, he published Waypoints (Pleasure Boat Studio, Seattle), a collection of place poems. Twenty Questions, a chapbook, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. […]Read more "Paper Wasps"
Suzanne Ondrus‘ first book Passion Seeds won the 2013 Vernice Quebodeaux Pathways Poetry Prize. She is a Fulbright Scholar in Burkina Faso, West Africa where she teaches creative writing. My African Trousseau The fabric is folded, patterns and colors in dark drawers. You, my love, are gone. but the fabric remains, away from light, away […]Read more "My African Trousseau"