by Damien Uriah
the present word sleeps
in a wet tennis shoe laid on a tarp
while the nameless bird sings from the south
as if resting in the sky
in another world the river woman sneaks up behind me
her footprints travelling as rocks Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Elizabeth Crowell
When my son weighed a pound a half,
his breath lagged like a dragging step.
His heart murmured, unclosed,
and so they opened that tiny, living body up. Continue reading
by Matthew LaFreniere
We drive, my mother and I, down
Timberlake, not silent but not talking,
the neons of store signs and brake lights stark Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Eric Paul Shaffer
A dead fish means more, without me
telling you the finny stillness on ice
is uhu or aku or ahi. That’s good eating. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by AE Hines
Lying with the man I love,
I muse about a farm
high in the Colombian mountains,
where terraced slopes of coffee
meander valley to peak
and disappear into mist. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
