Issue 37

Mary R. P. Schutter

grief stabs brutally again and again old Doc Time slowly sutures raw wounds scars hold tender remembrance

Larry Jones

the cold lonely eyes of my dead mother float by in a cloud

Matt Passant

Swirls and curls darting Diving colors in the sun Spinning tail and lost

Tyson West

horns of a blizzard etch saints’ faces on fallen trees

Bill Melton

Shards of light pierces Languid pregnant morning clouds Giving birth to rain

Bill Melton

The graceful snowflakes Dance across the leaden sky Perfect harmony

Gabriel Rheaume

The feral child in the soup kitchen Growled and hissed She took a peanut butter and jelly sandwich

Patricia Rossi

worn rosary beads abacus of prayer cradled in trembling hands

Angela Sargent

Sleep rolls through in shifts Waves of worries crashing Shore of the mind.

Brandon Crupi

These explosions are rhythmic. I can sleep through all of it forever.

Gary Heath

In Iowa gourmet coffee shop Nose rings in poetry slam Meet seed caps of pinochle game.

Scott Hicks

empty reservoir, first snow on the mountain – hope

Monica Wang

As rain falls on the grass I walk across my yard expecting only light

Rachel Zempel

brisk Autumn morning fog stretches beneath street lights soul searching from bed

Theresa Cancro

city strangers crossing the street in rain... umbrellas embrace

Tim Smith

campfire embers spark shedding light on pale blush cheeks moonlit thoughts are read

Michael Flanagan

grandpa whispered we renamed the new moon... bomber’s moon

James B. Nicola

The world’s too wide When you are not Where I am.

Cody Schweickert

lewd graffiti littered & strewn city playgrounds

James Plume

We still use the wobbling chair That broke after she threw it. I don’t mind the instability.

Brandon Beck

a bolt of white-orange lightning far across the plains silently declares its presence

Jerry Durick

Sirens, more sirens Morning full, afternoon, night Today is burning

Susan Schmidlin

The evening tide of ebbs and flows, slowly advances up the dry sand, to erase the sins of the day.

Barbara TW

Wherever you are your feet find footholds hewn here in my white, stone heart

Tom Pescatore

inside the freezer the lulling eyeballs mask four walls of a coffin looking out

Nusrat Zeba

Baby brother small with dimpled smile and restless vigor fills my days

Joseph J. Kozma

Without good reason Leaving me cold on the tracks The train stole away

Eve Chilicas

Beaconing image with warbling reflections come to the surface.

Dennis Lowe

bacon grease snow capped picket fence few flowers survived

Tessa Brant

first freeze of winter trees stripped down to twisted claws sky gray as my heart

Melissa Patterson

Washing the saucepan, I still smell the tomato smell...Spring evening

Melissa Patterson

Spring afternoon To the left of the front porch, dad’s cigarette ash

Rowland Hill

Black bears salmon-fish Bald eagles join in the feast Harvest Festival

Fred Melnyczuk

The half-moon gives a casual glance Over clean and humid streets, Where water drops—whisper.

Mary Elder Jacobsen

How you’ve grown, child of mine--pearl from my oyster, you sparkle like snow.

Kevin Andersen

I pour some of my beer into the sea over which we spread your ashes. Here’s to you, grandpa.

Deborah Davitt

What de Leon didn’t know, was that to reverse age, the Fountain flowed inversed—and sucked him in.

Lianne Kamp

Sisters by cosmic design Beads on a genome necklace Our own private Mardi Gras

Lianne Kamp

Trees shiver naked Revealing the river bed Summer’s sultry hidden secret

Clifford Browder

Cynics writhe Delicately gored On the tusk of my civility.

Maria DePaul

Petals spread to the sun A rose in full bloom Is fated to peak, then wither

Michael A. Griffith

The postmark was new to me Cold ivory envelope Words never meant to be read

John Reinhart

dangling feet edge of the world fishing for supper

Lorraine Cipriano

Bloody pearls on pale neck brass stake missing Victorian heart steampunk vampire lives on

Anna Cates

spring rain a snail probing garlic shafts

Evan Guilford-Blake

Bare walnut branches. I shiver in the cold wind. A chickadee sings.

Reed Redmond

our castellated edges not quite interlocking castling to rubble

Ron Scully

one fold at a time slowly roses disrobe, knowing red their only reason

Mary McLoughlin

Mud clumps on her knees, like she had knelt or groveled before God or man.

Mary McLoughlin

Her bold red lipstick leaves stains on her Tootsie Pop like a hooker’s kiss