Poetry
by Virginia Chase Sutton.
“It is not advertised on the pill bottle, merely mentioned / in the product description from the drug store. / You have no idea what you are giving away.”
by Peter Sordillo.
“That night, I dreamed of a city older than knowledge, / Dreamed of Serratia, climbed up from the soil, / Drawn over the fields like a long dress…”
by Ona Gritz.
“Left, my bright half, gets all of it… /
soft sharp prickly wet lined. / But press your head against my right shoulder, /
I sense weight but no warmth.”
by Margaret Kogan.
“First open the windows and empty the garbage. / Next start the laundry, lights and darks. / Strip the bed, wash sheets, pillowcases, / mattress and quilt covers, mats and towels.”
by Alice Wirth Gray.
“Her lovely face captured the one /
available male in the old folks’ home. /
She’s found, at long last, Mr. Right, / absolutely faithful, endlessly attentive, / forgiving of all idiocy.”
by Kristin Robertson.
“With the pad of my finger I collect crumb / after crumb like a hopeful, disappearing braille.”
by Peter Schmitt.
“Behind the thick, crosshatched glass of the cruiser / my brother, back for the holiday, breathes / more slowly.”
by Susan Buis.
“They told me that other senses / would rush in. Now the atmosphere / is shredded through trees, each / fragmented scented, audible.”
by Sarah Giragosian.
“To survive this exile, you will need /
to hold court with the moon, store the memory / of its light in a mason jar for later.”