by Derek Thomas Dew
There was a time when I walked down the sidewalk
at night and warm gusts of air swept over me.
When they did, there was a silence, and I thought
I’d never hear anything ever again.
I thought I saw something
out of the corner of my eye Continue reading
by Susan Johnson
We like to think we can leave one world for another
because one world or another has at times left us
sitting cross-legged as if cast in stone. Cut off
and alone like this free standing wall of water
broken from the falls that still fall spraying ferns.
Like one continent breaks from another leaving
a jagged edge. Like our language broke off from
the language of wolves. What a hoot you say. Continue reading
by Haya Pomrenze
Sergeant returns as Major.
Fatigues replaced by a peach apron,
Stacking frozen foods on aisle nine.
A dead dog is a newborn.
A flak jacket, a baby carrier.
Rations exchanged for Happy Meals.
A rifle is now a wife’s breast.
A callused palm, a girlfriend’s cunt. Continue reading
by Kristin Berkey-Abbott
He says he’ll celebrate
Ash Wednesday by smoking a carton
of cigarettes. Before the sun rises,
he’s puffed through a pack.
In the early light, she repots
the plants and hopes
they’ll perk back to life. Continue reading