Poetry
by Charles Bukowski.
“I order another drink and / decide not to kill them, even / in my imagination.”
by Eric Nelson.
“October, a woman and a boy, a tumor /
overtaking his brain, draw pictures /
in the waiting room.”
by Steven Cramer.
“Before my pupils gape oh in unison, /
I find a seat with the semi-sighted / like myself, becalmed / in our separate intermissions…”
by Elisavet Makridis.
“To straighten her spinal column, / Frida suspends nearly vertical / with sacks of sand tied to her feet.”
by Anne Pierson Wiese.
“Big leg bones / of cows sawed / into round sections / that when broiled / erupt thick burps of marrow…”
by Melissa Stein.
“You opened this door. Forced it back /
on its hinges, drove in the thin wedge, saying / ‘I may need to enter at a moment’s notice…'”
by Dominika Bednarska.
“if I slurred my speech, if I stuttered, /
if I could not swallow, which variable /
would make me less worthy of living?”
by Judy Katz.
“These days I think of you / on the yellow chaise / with your Parkinson’s / and hatred of telephones, / and make myself call.”
by Susan Donnelly.
“Everything she did that day / was the hardest thing / she’d done, but it felt easy.”