Cynthia Atkins: Hairbrush
He’d fall asleep on my chest, breath light as a falling leaf.
Now, he glides the bristles down my neck— He gently fluffs
the tufts, like airing the pillows.
Cynthia Atkins: Apocalypse in Twitter-Verse
Is that, finally,
the ache we shed with the last breath. —
Fogged faces passing on a train, trees
and smoke and hills.
Cynthia Atkins: The Last Cricket Standing
The women are lighting Shabbos candles
with Molotov Cocktails — A baby is passed to arms
on a train.
Cynthia Atkins: Making Lunch
I pack a thermos, 2 cookies, tart apple slices that will later smile at you from a bag—My noontime missive, a text of seduction.
Corona's Jaws: An Anthology of Poetry
Poems by Cynthia Atkins, Jose Alcantara, Judith Alexander Brice, Michael T. Young, Sydney Lea, Charlie Brice, John Samuel Tieman, and Adrian Rice.