“Lose something every day. Accept the fluster . . .” (Elizabeth Bishop) Every once in a while I open one of too-many, tiny boxes, and there you are, bright stab of memory: My brave lover from long ago. I see you exactly as you were then, because time took care to preserve the details, the same way amber traps an insect for eternity. One could almost map the genome from this fossil: golden ring with its garnet chip. I used to wear it on my little finger. There are things we find that were never … Continue reading Reliquary by Annie Stenzel→
“An artist is said to be original exactly when he takes up the challenge of tradition and makes us see something more than we already knew.” Demetri Porphyrios. Classical Architecture. I am a fundamentalist. But contemporary connotations dredge up all sorts of pejoratives that I want to dispel. I want you to understand fundamental. There are fundamental math equations, fundamental conventions of a civilized society (etiquette), of language use, rules of public road driving, of constructing a printed book, of lasting friendships, fundamental principles of civil rights in an educated and democratic country. In … Continue reading Bedrock Poetry by Fred Wilbur→
It’s wrong to feel lucky when a poplar blooms. …………Branches spit out slender pinks below low clouds. In fields here, we find arrowheads. Ancient whispers on the ridge. One death begs another. …………Axe, arrow, bullet, bomb. A siege of poisoned bolts. Up the road, old battlefields sit surprised, suddenly covered in grey blankets …………of stinging dust. Charming fencerows buried. Once, old soldiers sold poppies, tried to warn us. Some rode to save us. …………Yet Zeus swung back and slung his fire. Capitol’s newly fallen: an ugly man of bare ambition, youths who rose through thunder, … Continue reading It’s Wrong to Feel Lucky by Marjorie Gowdy→
Vigil Outside the nurses’ station, third floor east, twilight spreads its white canopy over the busy avenue of bright buildings. Down the hall, an orderly lofts a pale sheet over a vacant bed. In the next room, the ventilator pulses on, pushing a steady breeze through the cracked wall of a failing lung. In the dim light, the old woman tethered to a fever floats under the fluorescent aura shimmering above her head. Beneath shuttered eyelids, night pools. Right up to the edge. Work Gloves Nothing much to look at lying on the shelf, one … Continue reading Vigil and Work Gloves, 2 poems by Ron Stottlemyer→
As a very small child I learned language just like all small children. Only in my case there were some mysterious words that took me years to sort out their true meaning. There were words like Amtrak, lugao, Santo Tomás, Los Baños, Baguio, paratroopers. These words were part of my family life and lore. They were the words of World War II internees (another one of those words!). I played with my mother’s crutches, pretending to walk on them by putting my arms where her hands went. I watched my brother put on his leg … Continue reading Bookends by Elizabeth Dudley Wilbur→
As a youngster, I watched my father slice out-of-date reports whose 8 1/2 x 11″ sheets had blank back sides; the pivoting knife of the paper cutter with its own whoosh sound, produced 3 x 5″ slips. He warned me to mind my fingers. He made a little box with half cover in his basement shop to hold the repurposed pages. My mother then painted flowers on it to marry the artistic to the practical. This box resides on my telephone table in the back hall, quaint along side our landline and answering … Continue reading A Taxonomy of Lists by Fred Wilbur→
Ahab’s Widow I wait for him as every whaler’s wife. I write him letters every day. I tell him how he grows bigger and stronger. I tell him of his first words and of his first walk on his own. I write, “What a lovely little pip he is.” I write, “I call him that sometimes, instead of Malcolm.” I write, “Rachel says he’s often mischievous.” I write, “Come home to us safely.” At dusk, as the sun goes down behind the white clapboard house and the elms’ shadows reach out across the lawn to … Continue reading Ahab’s Widow and Two Songs, 2 poems by J. R. Solonche→
It was my granddaughter’s fourth birthday party. I, old lady with cane, was sitting in the shade on the side, then made my way cautiously to watch the children hit the piñata with a plastic bat. (In my support group for survivors of sexual abuse, one man told of being hung and whacked just like that; he had black circles under his eyes from never sleeping.) The first few hits yielded no shower of candy and toys. The kids tried again, whacking harder and harder, even the littlest, while the adults yelled raucous encouragement. … Continue reading The Piñata by Dana Robbins→
Antonyms for “Affluence” It is a myth that mice are impossible to eat. I see my tuxedo on another man, a groom or musician. It is a myth that the bride will be thinking about Queen Victoria or the General Washington. It is a myth that I will get fat doing this. As a child, I knew I would marry Gretel, and we would never sleep soundly. I understood that the witch’s candy house wasn’t real, but the children’s hunger was. How to Buy an Antique Picture Frame Sometimes you have to drive …..hundreds of … Continue reading Antonyms for “Affluence” and How to Buy an Antique Picture Frame, 2 poems by Glen Armstrong→
Sara Biel has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2021 Poetry Contest I Want to Give Him a Chance Her voice is thin, scrapes and rolls, a dry leaf across the sidewalk. My fingers grip the phone, heart a bird in my throat. “He loves me,” she says “I want to give him a chance.” Her thoughts a murmuration, fear and hope lost together. My fingers grip the phone, heart a bird in my throat. The sun ducks behind the cover of the sinking city. “He said he loves me” her voice a startled hover … Continue reading I Want to Give Him a Chance by Sara Biel→
Streetlight Magazine is the non-profit home for unpublished fiction, poetry, essays, and art that inspires. Submit your work today!
