Doug Anderson: Memorial Day
It’s only old Herman sitting a few yards off in the recliner
who looks beyond them into a burning village where a marine
drags a wounded man by his heels behind a tank for cover
and the tank backs up and runs over them both.
R.S. Ramirez: Losing My Mother to Trump
Implicit, of course, was the narrative of us and them, of being a certain kind of immigrant compared to the rest. She blended in perfectly, and as her child, I did the same.
Robert Cording: Broken
Now, my brother’s fifty-year marriage
broken off as if their past was
an imposter that had been discovered.
And my best friend’s wife can’t find
the name for husband,
though he sits next to her.
Barbara Crooker: Credo
You can till the earth,
hoe the rows, but each seed is an act of belief
that somehow in the dark something
is happening:
Nasser Rabah: We Are Not Iron
We are not iron, O God, so that we can be melted down every year. We are not copper or lead that they fire among the armies and leave behind after the end of the war as mere ammunition and ashes.
Gerald Fleming: The Secret
The man had the sense the secret was planning escape.
Charles Harper Webb: Flubadub Invents the Sixties
His elephant-brain conceived The Howdy
Doody Show, and chose what Old-Time
Movie played when Buffalo Bob pried open
his Hostess cupcake-with-the-surprise-inside.
Steven Ratiner: Typos
Word instead of wood but,sodden, it smoked when it burned. I wrote god for good who was, once––in my childhood years, crownedwith the nimbus of that capital G––but now tends … Continue reading
Roberta Hatcher: My Highway 61 Revisited
Well at times ideas seem so absurd
But if you leave me in peace to play with words
I’ll give you something simple
Just a little rhyme
To amuse and to help to pass the time
Video: Food for the Future
Food is culture, food is life — it’s part of who we are and the magic that binds us together. But here’s the twist: the way we eat is pushing … Continue reading
Claudia Lefko: Dear Refaat Alareer | A Letter of Gratitude
As per your wishes we’re striving to live—hopefully a deeper and more reflective life, including a life of action against the genocide in Palestine.
W. H. Auden: Stop all the clocks
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
Alexis Rhone Fancher: Hermanas
You’re the same, you two, J, my lover, said. Of course you feel an affinity. I stared at the Frida Kahlo self-portrait in his hands. Frida’s soulful sweetness stared back. You … Continue reading
Byron Hoot: Two poems about beginning and ending
The death of my father is nearly a month
away – 31 years. The haunting of longing
has begun.
