Dawn Potter: Home Burial
I pretend I am living in a faraway
city, somewhere in Europe, where doves
coo in the bell towers and a woman in
heels click-clicks over the cobblestones,
walking, walking late into the night.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Postcard From The After Life
At the Saturday Pearly Balls, I conga
to the karaokes of yokels, popes, madams
& Nobels. No one wears a watch, no strike
of midnight to worry about. I’ve read all
the books & let go of the past — at last.
Robert Okaji: Knowing What I Now Know
I would love more.
I would love better.
I would love.
Kathryn Levy: Three Poems
Whatever you searched for
will never be found. Whatever
memories hidden in the
chest in the attic mustn’t be taken
out anymore.
William Shakespeare: Sonnets 73 & 74
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
Toi Derricotte: Not Forgotten
I love the way the black ants use their dead.
They carry them off like warriors on their steel
backs.
Barbara Crooker: Treadmill
We lift weights. We
feel great. We
do yoga. We
eat granola.
Laurence Musgrove: Healing
Have you ever thought
that you weren’t healing
as fast as you thought
you should
Kathryn Levy: Three Poems
The geese are calling—this is
time to depart. They gather and sink and
soar toward somewhere.
Tony Gloeggler: Anyway
After we dropped dirt
on my father’s coffin
the long line of cars
drove back to the house.
James Crews: Finding my Mother
The day you passed away, I stumbled
along icy sidewalks, searching for any
sign of you
Al Maginnes: The Body’s Cartographer
I’ve been lucky enough to steer clear of pain that squats
like the friend you no longer like but can’t evict
from your couch because he’s out of work, but able
to be drunk every day you walk in the door.
Elizabeth Romero: O’Brien’s Funeral Parlor
The family, humble and resigned as a canvas jacket:
Their faces full of a still, impassive sorrow
Helene Johnson: Invocation
Let me be buried in the rainIn a deep, dripping wood,Under the warm wet breast of EarthWhere once a gnarled tree stood.And paint a picture on my tombWith dirt and … Continue reading
