Poetry
by Lindsay Stuart Hill.
“She wondered what would happen / to her actual face. Would it fade away? Or would it / stay put, like a person you can never get rid of…”
by Kailey Tedesco.
“My mother’s old kimono cradles me / so that I can become a fish, wet with / water I can drape about my shoulders.”
by Diana Tokaji.
“Make for the moment / the moon in its place / And lie quickly beneath to remember.”
by Jen Karetnick.
“All that ink on your skin! / bartenders would marvel. / Cosmos at my elbow…”
by Marie Kane.
“She examines what the February
sea threw and the beach caught:
shreds of jellyfish, a half-rotted
doll, garbled masses of kite string
twined around one slack, yellow
and orange kite.”
by Judith Harris.
“There will be a worse day. He will live / long enough to not recognize me at all, / and I sense it drawing nearer…”
by Amy Rothschild.
“You toss a pale bagel onto his plate, / do some hand-waving around / the problem of gravity.”
by Patty Crane.
“the fields to silver, mown paths / like rivers of first-ice—every / blade of grass scattering light…”
by Dylan Landis.
“Janet reported that gray taffeta / curtained her walls. It was delicate. When touched, the ashen silk dissolved / around her thumbprint….”