Category Archives: Uncategorized

oh, wouldn’t it be nice

by L. Acadia

the one road
rings the island
I think the people don’t want us here
glare when we pass,
double on electric scooters
they’d never wear helmets like we
(do) like colanders
in terms of porosity and peril Continue reading

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Silly

by Uma Menon

One day you start to realize your father
is a child and maybe that happens early

on because he is just so silly. He wants
to go outside and play, in the sidewalk, Continue reading

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The Good Shepherd of Sevilla

by Daniel Thomas Moran

This morning in Sevilla,
I signed a book for Jesus.
He was our tour guide as we
traipsed the storied hills
of Gaudi’s Barcelona, and
wandered the sacred, shining
shores of the Costa Del Sol. Continue reading

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I Should Write a Poem About Mrs. C. From “Happy Days”

by Jennifer Randall Hotz

Mrs. C. will tell you she doesn’t mind
that the children never ask her what
she thinks about anything important

or that her husband, when she cooks
him breakfast, rushes out the door,
claims he only has time for coffee.

How often does she sigh looking out
the kitchen window, hoping for
something she can’t quite put her finger on?

When The Fonz shows up,
striding into every scene
in a leather jacket

sleek as a seal’s head,
she kisses him on the cheek,
calls him by his real name:

Arthur. He takes her hand in his,
looks deeply into her eyes,
sees what’s really there:

her whole life on endless repeat,
standing at the stove in dress, pearls,
apron, lips pursed as she scrapes

the skillet with short, sharp strokes,
trying to make something out of the raw
ingredients she has at hand.

 

Jennifer Randall Hotz’s work has appeared in Burningword Literary Journal, Naugatuck River Review, Connecticut River Review, Literary Mama, and SLANT, among other publications. She won 1st place in poetry for the Virginia Writers Club 2023 Golden Nib Awards and was nominated for a 2024 Pushcart Prize. Find her at: www.jenniferrandallhotz.com.

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Commuter Train

by Robert Haynes

Sometimes I can’t help wanting other commuters
to think I’m shining into the foliar flush
where robins nest in the knuckle of a tree.
I wear the tweed jacket with elbow patches
ready to debate an essay. Oh sure, it’s just theater;
I’m just another nobody who rides the veins
of 30th Street with the ghost of a classroom. Continue reading

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