The Last Place

by Lisa Lewis

Let me be first to beg forgiveness.
I draw back the curtain, past dusk.
They are gathering to throw pebbles
and paper cups, and their laughter
seizes the window frame …

Red Card

by Chuck Sweetman

Late in the game, we were losing to a physical
Chaos team, when my Katy tackled late, high,
and hard and drew a red card. Sitting
on the bleachers, I …

Still Life (Mostly Peaches)

by Jenny Browne

Even so, Allison draws the faces
of dead presidents and Margaret a tree, again,
then climbs it, still wearing her socks.
Her mother is shouting up from the ground.
Her …

Haunted Houses

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the …

Den

by Arthur Vogelsang

In any house the prey has hair
And the hunter has hair and the prey and the hunter are one.
As in you, who are prey, and hunter, and me,

Woman As Disappearing Act

by Tim Kahl

a woman looking out the armhole of her dress,
her hair cut off in the sink—she can’t stand
it when her bangs aren’t even.

she has been asleep for years, absent …

Rules for gravity

by Peter Jay Shippy

Don’t French, zero woofing, there are no rain checks
or recompense due to inclement weather, one

whistle means wave-particle duality, peacocks
roam freely so please stare into their hundred eyes

and fall …

Brick Radio

by Daniel Tiffany

Everything is a meer spunge,
my business: interval, common

little patch
with the romantic name.

Hast thou entered into the treasures
of the snow, the treasures of the hail?

You start talking
like …

Contemplation: Billy Goat Trail

by Allison Joseph

Out here, on these vicious rocks that come at me
in sharp angles and steep climbs, I search
for the oneness, wholeness, the entire anthology

of being. This craggy scramble over …

Camera Obscura

by Judith Taylor

The trail’s almost obliterated, you ask him where is it.
 
 
You snap and snap as he walks away then back into the lens.
 
 
An orange dot, …

Today is the boss

by Victoria Chang

Today is the boss the boss is today this day shines
                       her white teeth the day is the boss

The bullet that found Mrs. Cosma

while she was hanging laundry on the balcony

by Claudia Serea

December 1989

With a loud bang,
I’m off

and zoom through the air,
death’s faithful bee.

Was I meant
for someone else?

Or was the sniper startled
by her domestic gestures
at the top …