Love and Revenge

by Dawn McGuire

Mom writes in her will that if anybody
fights over stuff it all goes to the dogs
at the Keller County Shelter

Mac and I, we don’t fight
not that we …

Corner Lot

by Ellen Birkett Morris

The house where turns are made,
a brick two-story duplex. We lived upstairs.
In the front yard, an oak with one low hanging branch
where I’d swing by my arms …

Rhododendron

by Aaron Belz

I spent an entire year refusing
to spell “rhododendron” correctly.
About six months in, I met a woman
who refused to spell “heinous” correctly.
Together we refused to spell “The

Hunter-Gatherers

by Michelle Mitchell-Foust

She lets go
in three ways,

and in the wake
of this small miracle,

they leave the water.
They become

hunter-gatherers.
He hands her

something red
and tells her

the story
of a woman

who was

Captain Jasper’s Cruise Rules

by Jeffrey Hecker

Passengers: pass on
friendships with passengers.
Prepare to run aground,
no diesel, no beer, no fun.

Cell phone reception
at best famished cat meows.
Morning alliances make
no difference this afternoon.

Stranded, …

Personal Jesus

by Henry Israeli

I want to see your face, not just your words,
but I know I will be disappointed.
What kind of a face could you have
that would not disappoint?
I …

Annual trip to the village cemetery

by Claudia Serea

Looking for your father’s grave,
we walk around
and read the names carved on crosses.

You recognize neighbors,
a cousin—
Old Neculai dead?
His son, too, at 50?

Weeds tangled,
fiery cosmos …

The Drunk

by Jeff Oaks

The wind is sharpening its knives
on my father come in the dark
toward home, half wreckage,
half-bear in Christ’s cold garden.
His tongue is quit, tied,
flat: the journey …

Confidence

by Justin Jannise

I found you buried in me
that day I swam to the island crowning on Lake … Lake …
I forget its name. Instead I remember
catching my breath only …

John Clare eating grass and knowing he is Childe Harold

by Claudia Keelan

2009

Today 21 Feb. Fahrenheit

And the enormous cement houses

Are empty

 

John Clare eats grass and knows he is Childe Harold

Jane Bowles’ small hand reaches across time and whole worlds to hold mine

 

I …

The First Time My Ass Was Grabbed

by Karen Eileen Sisk

I was just filled out and fifteen–

a lipstick ad’s full pout–
on a Spanish moss draped vacation
in Charleston’s honey-thick August.
Mother, father, brother, sisters, and I
held trolley poles …

Light Housekeeping

by Anne Yale

This morning: brave a half century’s heaping,

appraise practicalities, fret over each piece
that no longer fits. A black feather boa
shushes the sequined vest. The top hat
and cane lean …