Poetry
by Eleonora Luongo.
“I kept them all. The poems, I mean. When I / tried to tell your mother, she’d leaned in, said,…”
by E. Hume Covey.
“Two months into her illness, Pat / lay in pain, nearly immobile, / nourished by pills and liquids, / no appetite even for favorite foods…”
by Sarah Nance.
“My mother knows there are three / ways to be clean: to take a mess / that’s there and cover it…”
by Robert Carr.
“The tender of your reflection / inverted in chrome / as a kettle boils…”
by Catharine Clark-Sayles.
“From 1850 to 1890 forty-one of fifty-six infants born on St. Kilda in the Hebrides died of tetanus caused by the custom of anointing the umbilical stump with oil stored in the dried stomach of a goose.”
by Michael Montlack.
“Once a woman who lost her mother / told me the story of a guru rushing / to satisfy his dying mentor’s last wish.”
by Terry Tierney.
“They say the pulses come from a distant galaxy, / an infant cluster in the first moment of birth.”
by Anthony Ageuro.
“I don’t know how I did it, / loved you all those years in the quiet landscape / of a burning vineyard, of a toppling mountain…”
by Lisa Mullenneaux.
“Sometimes she read a book, / listening to music. It was as if / if you got too close you might / catch pregnancy.”