by Bryce Berkowitz
after Kim Addonizio
She hangs around, bestowing new doubt to your friends
or else she disappears over the long weekend.
She shows up again mid-week, when you’re finally sober,
like someone passing through town who just invited you to dinner.
She allows you to search, then provides variant meanings.
When you lie in bed Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Bryce Berkowitz
after Donika Ross Kelly
We live in Carbondale, Illinois.
We have a wood stove, a TV antenna, and a deer head hanging on the wall.
Mom decorates it with Christmas lights, a Santa hat, and calls it Rudolph.
My favorite things are secrets, sugar-strawberries,
and pretending chopped logs are bazookas. I pick green beans in the garden
and play basketball with Dad at sunset. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Bryce Berkowitz
after Edward Hirsch
Today we drift through a peach orchard,
scabbed and calloused,
branches bent in black and gold angles,
while the sun sets over the prairie.
Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 