Poetry
by Alexandra Ozols.
“…so I worry and know that everything / is not fine which sends my heart galloping / like a horse turned wild by gunshots…”
by Jay Kidd.
“It was on an airplane that I let my / mother read the first paragraph of / Swann’s Way, my travel reading.”
by Emily Sullivan Sanford.
“Every spring I must explain my arms to children, / before my legs arrive in summer.”
by Vincent Casaregola.
“Having left work early this spring / afternoon, I feel no rush / to be anywhere but here and now, / even waiting at this reluctant light…”
by Sandra Gustin.
“I don’t remember if I ever cleaned my house. I’m sure we / never heard birdsong. Some cried. Some of us got quite thin.”
by Amy Haddad.
“The clutch of white peonies I hold by my side are floppy / with dew dripping down my leg. / I am late too.”
by Paula Sergi.
“She’d toss a quilt made from our outgrown skirts / over the faded couch and lie there, / holding the ache, rocking it to sleep…”
by Subhaga Crystal Bacon.
“What can I tell you of this cool morning, / mid-August, the sky clear, sun on the bare / pine floor, a book of poems, dog asleep, / the house quiet…”
by Doug Ramspeck.
“They woke to the primal sway / of grass, cold fire. Here was // a light rain falling from the eyelid / of the sky.”