Dawn Potter: Now that I’m old
now that I don’t have sex every night or carry two fat boys,
one on each hip, up small mountains,
I have to go to exercise class
Wendy Mnookin: In the Small Rotary
where Route 100 meets School Street,
two cows graze.
Sally Bliumis-Dunn: Diminution
Did she believe—she did, I think— the right
cliché could save us, help us not to feel
alone, so many bees in that same hive—
spilt milk, sow’s ear, Achilles heel.
Valerie Duff: Follow You Into
In the Wellesley
Botanic Gardens
the seedlings
spread in rows
Wendy Mnookin: A Love Poem
I don’t want to complain about my mother, because she did a lot of nice things. Some very considerate things. She came to Boston when my younger son was born … Continue reading
Elizabeth Romero: Album
Here are my two sons in 1968
In their father’s arms.
He looks harmless.
They look doubtful and uneasy.
Pauletta Hansel: The Stepmother’s Lament
Tell me,
what am I
supposed to do
with all this love?
Kari Gunter-Seymour: Conflagration
I hoped returning
would spark memories, fill her with light,
the way the heat of day warms the bones.
Lisa Zimmerman: That Blue
When the poet said blue city of bees
I was reminded of the blue cotton robe
my husband gave me, a shade my mother loved
Haya El-Refai: Laya’s first Eid
When war comes, it steals everything: souls, memories, homes, happiness, love and safety. Instead, it brings fear, blood, death, darkness and terror.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Parentage
I’m from the ocean’s melancholy, dragging
its anchors back & forth, never quiet, never
still, waves so restless they can’t mirror the moon.
Martha Silano: Poem that Begins at the Core
A mother who lived to peel apples,
bake the most exquisite pies. Suffuse the air
with delicious love. A father gah-gah for fossils,
mummies, cow manure.
Meg Pokrass: Moments with Crochet Hooks
Back then she and her mother waited for the phone to ring, for money to plump itself up and walk through their door. Moments passed with yarn and crochet hooks.
Linda Parsons: Checkers with my Granddaughter
She’s not out for blood but, like her father,
a natural strategist and soon has me
in her grasp.
Vox Populi 