by Megan Munger
Lynnie, all you learn
on our visits are Grandpa’s horses
like saltlicks, have soft manes.
Grandma’s office, a typewriter,
she lets you play. Both of them
smile and hug gentle,
by Megan Munger
Lynnie, all you learn
on our visits are Grandpa’s horses
like saltlicks, have soft manes.
Grandma’s office, a typewriter,
she lets you play. Both of them
smile and hug gentle,
Filed under Poetry
by Amy Fleury
Back in the bed of our gone son’s begetting
we drift on the raft of our grief. You join
our fingers together, your wedding band
glinting in the rivering dark. My tears salt
your shoulder. Your whiskers catch my hair.
We have only endured a week of ever-after. Continue reading
by Erika McKitrick
Remember the cemetery
the crypt, French theme
Gentle freckles
Me.
Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Timothy Pilgrim
We’re making the bed
after the night of failure
not that it’s always like that. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Christopher Joseph
Mute orange dominates
The sky leaves become
Teardrops: Fall.
Christopher Joseph is currently interested in better understanding identity and knowledge. Art and poetry have been fanciful, indulgent, even hysterical; in other words, an almost impossible pursuit. He continues to explore intersections of words and images, partially derived from a fondness for color and aesthetics.
Filed under Poetry