Author Archives: matoigue

Fossils

by Barrett Mohrmann

Put fossils in the nursery, they say.
Those ancient stones and bones guide
the child from a kaleidoscopic time to now,
plucking out weeds to create fecund soil where
a drop of cosmic rain might land and disperse.
I struggle to see how the ridged back of a trilobite
or the staring eye socket of a stony fish
will soothe the child.

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Hunters

by Leslie Schultz

Orion, with his starry belt and club,
looms over my house this late autumn eve,
strides with his dog, as if whistling toward his pub,
cozy with constellatory make-believe, Continue reading

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Mother’s Day on the Field

by Anannya Uberoi

St. Michael’s pitch is torched with
blots of white and gold, and red and blue
for the boys, kicking far and wide—
the game’s on, and it’s on good,
for there is a curly-haired lad blaring Continue reading

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Under Lockdown

by Josh P. Cohen

Before corona stole my crown,
I was still the king of Prince Street,
with my bag full of books and medicine,
my brow, furrowed only by the hacky,
drip-drop cough that always lingers
in the winter months and nags
at the back of my throat ‘til spring— Continue reading

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Interregnum

by Rebecca Bihn-Wallace

I am an observer. I most likely can’t tell you what I ate for breakfast this morning, nor can I keep track of my belongings or change the oil on a car or explain the stock market in any real sense, but I remember the interior of every house I’ve lived in, and could probably even tell you how the  furniture was arranged. I have been cursed with the curious combination of operating in two worlds: the real world, which is often loud and confusing and leaves me at times baffled; and the imagined world, the life of the mind, which is soothing but not always the best place to be. That is to say, I am a writer. Because of this, I wasn’t aware of my need for regular human contact until the pandemic hit. It came upon slowly, this pandemic, or I think it did; now when I look at the timeline of events, I think, Weeks, not months.  Weeks for my state to go on lockdown, weeks for my university to close, weeks for shelter in place to begin. Months for people to rebel, months for the country to undergo another racial paroxysm. Continue reading

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