by Jim Kraus
Past the line of stones,
watch out for the kiawe, its thorns.
Then run across the hot sand Continue reading
by Jim Kraus
Past the line of stones,
watch out for the kiawe, its thorns.
Then run across the hot sand Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Trish Annese
I meet M. in Prague on a lonesome Sunday in March as I chase a lost turquoise scarf down an asphalt alley and she retrieves it, stepping from the recesses of a darkened doorway—a mistress of ceremonies stepping into the spotlight—and restoring it to me with a flourish.
Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Nancy Dickeman
There is an atomic land along the crook in the river
where reactors’ shadows
once traced the Columbia’s currents. Continue reading
by Brad Crenshaw
I
All said, things are settling down.
It’s that sort of world, definitely
haunted, but those who know report that roads
are open in Los Angeles, where people
try to breathe again, and citizens
in India can see the Himalayas
white as frozen ghosts. It gives me heart
somehow. Hindus wave at neighbors, and
in Tuscany the sheltered businessmen
are singing on their ledges. Early morning
somewhere lately, oilmen wake on ocean
platforms without blasting, no spills
out of the center of the earth. Almost
no one’s getting murdered anymore. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Michael Mark
clunkers,
shifting twig foot to twig foot
like tweed-coated squatters around
trash can fires. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry