T. R. Hummer: William Blake and the Alligator
A young man still, to me he is the Ancient of Days
standing stern in the stern of the skiff, poling us
Over the jade mirror of the Tickfaw River.
Christine Rhein: Sunflowers
The whole world
has pictures, explosions
we hold in our palms
Arlene Weiner: More
Before he could speak my grandson learned
two signs, Finished, More,
like the first wordless words
at the breast, turning the head
or latching on.
Charlotte Mew: The Trees Are Down
They are cutting down the great plane-trees at the end of the gardens.
For days there has been the grate of the saw, the swish of the branches as they fall
Jim Daniels: My Security Question
The closet in her room
remains as she left it
clothes losing their dark
interest. Ghosts in the dust.
Lindsey Royce: God is the Fish in my Mouth
Do I walk away, heart tight as a walnut
Kathryn Levy: At the End of the World
she keeps washing the dishes—they
have to be clean for the
dinners of tomorrow—
and watching explosions
in some distant country
Mike Schneider: Spring Mills
Stars & stripes ripple from the pole.
An old willow leans over the water,
strand after strand of green tears.
Sydney Lea: Living History
I was not quite ten years old the day we traveled
To one site of the D-Day invasion nine years before.
I asked what the trouble was. His words sounded cryptic:
“We lost a lot of men here.”
Rachel Hadas: Sourdough Starter
One batch of sourdough starter, it is said,
can trace its lineage generations back.
Each fresh loaf carries on the tangy smack…