Amy Lowell: Lilacs
The bright eyes of song sparrows sitting on spotted eggs
Peer restlessly through the light and shadow
Of all Springs.
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
Nina Padolf: In line at the food bank with my roommate a disabled vet in Pittsburgh
It’s our turn, they escort us around
each section as if we’re in prison
Al Maginnes: Lydia Loveless’s X
And just over her heart,
a tattooed X, a set of crossed sticks, stitched
into the skin with a sewing needle and ink,
jailhouse style.
Richard Horan: Notes from Il Campo
It’s carciofi (artichoke) season here in the Eternal City. Everywhere you go, those fat-stemmed, strongly evocative of Bacchus, violet-and-green buds are still-lifing the display tables out in front of every osteria and trattoria from Prati to San Saba.
Nick Graham: Legends
Game trails, foot paths, roads—ever less narrow,
history’s cool path of annotation.
Maps fold flat and unfold worlds we might know,
showing how to get where we long to go
Edna St. Vincent Millay: Travel
The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.
