Mary E. Martin: Permission to Forget
What we should remember
is how the wind like our breath
bellows the world
Michael Simms: Satan and the Snowman
I don’t have relationships,
the old drunk explained
with surprising wisdom,
I take hostages.
Wislawa Szymborska: Possibilities
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
I prefer Grimms’ fairy tales to the newspapers’ front pages.
I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
Christopher Bursk: The Day Everything Changed
I do not remember the exact date,
but I won’t forget the smell of rain still in the screen door
and the man on the other side
trying to catch his breath
Elizabeth Romero: Album
Here are my two sons in 1968
In their father’s arms.
He looks harmless.
They look doubtful and uneasy.
Baron Wormser: Once
I was a candle
Carried upstairs downstairs
One room to another
Patricia Jabbeh Wesley: There Will Be Times
How your arrival is now nothing to her?
And your leaving is nothing to her?
Lisa Zimmerman: Testament
I believe the truth needs no defense.
I believe that feelings might not be facts
but they matter all the same
Al Ortolani: Paper Birds Don’t Fly
Sitting at the table with the paper birds,
she unfolded mine and began to read.
I couldn’t make out a word
she was saying.
Jane Satterfield: Fox
the fox
is interloper, is fur of russet
and iron, is light-footed, is real
in my alley
Majid Naficy: The Family Koran
There, in the tradition of the Old Testament,
He stoned the unruly women
And hanged the disillusioned youth
In the market place.
Michael Simms: What it wasn’t
It wasn’t bigger than a breadbox.
It wasn’t smooth as glass.
It didn’t smell good or bad
Or have any taste whatsoever.
Annie Finch: How poetry casts a spell through the rhythmic magic of metre
Dactylic is a rolling, generous metre that people often find useful for accessing emotions and compassion.
Countee Cullen: Yet Do I Marvel
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind
