by Michael Mark
clunkers,
shifting twig foot to twig foot
like tweed-coated squatters around
trash can fires. Continue reading
by Michael Mark
clunkers,
shifting twig foot to twig foot
like tweed-coated squatters around
trash can fires. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Matthew Bruce
We lie with compost squeezed
between our fingers. Honey-
dew, cantaloupe rinds make
small tombstones. Black-
banana mash leaks boozy
gas into the rosemary. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Alex Thomas
Run the numbers again and hope
that you come up with something
more sure of your survival. Run
the numbers again and hope for
a new figure on the other side
of the equals sign. The New
Yorkers tell me that they gauge Continue reading
by Dia Roth
My mother leaves behind paperwhites, gifts
for my dog in her handwriting,
books of poetry, no note. I mine them
for semi-precious stones,
admissions of remorse, scabs picked
off and left behind, but come up Continue reading
by Satish Prabasi
(from Fragments of Memory: A Nepali National’s Reminiscences)
We Nepalese have always been proud of our independence. The mountain people from the north descended to the malaria-infested southern lowlands in search of timber, oilseeds, and legumes, and they gradually colonized the strip of land called the Terai. Baba was one of the people who came down from the western hill village of Jhiltung, and over the years he acquired a hundred acres of land near the border with India. He called this piece of land “the abode of Govinda,” or Govindpur, named after Vishnu, the Hindu god of prosperity. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry