Sally Bliumis-Dunn: Work
The father sanded the gunwales,the boy coiled the lines.
And I admired them there, each to his task
in the quiet of the long familiar.
Baruch November: Summer, Duluth, M.N.
we reel
in crappie after crappie,
laughing at their name
and the ease at which
they are hooked
Yana Djin: April Elegy
again April is here
with its sun of brass
and its moon of steel
Al Maginnes: The Book of Forgetting
I know there is a book, more
than one, where the names
of dead towns and their citizens
line the white pages neat
as grave plots
Andrea Hollander: Betrayals
At least my father did not betray anyone. It was the plaque in his brain that betrayed him. As for my ex—well, time passes, and I see how some … Continue reading
Michael Simms: Names
Lea wants to change her name to Tina. Her mother says she must think very carefully because a name has to fit. The wrong name can bind like someone else’s … Continue reading
Fred Shaw: The Toolbox
I search for the red-handled Phillips-head among the clutter of Dad’s Air Force toolbox; the obsolete, English-sized wrenches, the vise-grips and channel locks looking to grasp smooth shouldered bolts with … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Love Not Money
The first time my three-year old son said the words I Love You was when my ten-year old daughter, his big sister, was away on a school trip, and when … Continue reading
