Molly Fisk: Lapsed Unitarian in Mormon Country
Some bird
shat a mulberry seed whose skyward
reach is nine feet now at least
and equally wide, for perfect shade.
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer: Like a Friend
I didn’t land. I fell and I fell and I fell.
At first as I plummeted, I feared the landing,
imagining an imminent crash. Then,
I fell through nights and middays. Fell through
kitchen floors and highways.
Ellen Foos: Letting Assisted Living Have a Say
We are both losing something.
I am losing him,
he is losing himself.
Thomas Lux: Ode to the Unbroken World, Which Is Coming
It must be coming, mustn’t it? Churches
and saloons are filled with decent humans.
A mother wants to feed her daughter,
fathers to buy their children things that break.
James Crews: After Receiving Bad News from a Friend
To offer what we can,
even when a friend lives far away,
to say: I will hold you inside myself
as you pass through this new gate.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Late Afternoon Stroll on the Cliffs
We’re fast friends by now. Death much older of course,
but there’s no hierarchy between us: we’re both taking
a break from it all, glad to watch waves collapse on rocks
Lisel Mueller: Place and Time
My life began
with Beethoven and Schubert
on my mother’s grand piano
Robert Lipsyte: The Barbarians at the Gate
I was shocked, but not surprised. What do we do now? Yes, we all knew they were coming, still….
Negin Owliaei: As Trump Bombs Iran, We Need to Reckon With the American War Machine
We in the U.S. need to reckon with the fact that so much of our state wealth, capacity, and technology goes toward burying children in rubble.
Donna Hilbert: Two Poems
Fire and ice, ice and fire.
I’m loathe to say much more
of fear, of loss, and of desire.
It’s all been said, or sung, before.
J. Kates: Two Poems
I gave up cigarettes and sex and booze
and anything that might have got me hung.
I’ve grown too old to listen to the blues.
Carolyne Wright | Ghazal: Mid-Teens
My restless dreams and wakeful nights began—
At 3 a.m. I stalked down the hall. “You’re just sixteen,”
My father sighed—awake, too, in the living room.
William Palmer | The Glow Fills Something Inside: Lucille Clifton and Alma
among the rocks
at walnut grove
your silence drumming
in my bones,
tell me your names
James Crews: Mud-Puddling
I don’t want to read another book
or listen to another podcast promising
a better life, the road to happiness.
I just want to love my life as it is
