Category Archives: Poetry

Cafe con Leche by Benjamin Schmitt

Cappucino
 

When you add cream to your coffee there is a moment of storm beneath the surface, the possibility of a sinner planting a kiss on the gates of heaven, a string of cloud floating in the old well before the clanging and swirling spoon drains all of our hopes into the great brown ditch. And yet this kind of hope can only live in a moment. The young communist’s dream before Stalin’s moustache crawls into his trousers, mercilessly scratching his thighs; the trust of the promising acolyte before the moat-like grimace of a priest separates … Continue reading Cafe con Leche by Benjamin Schmitt

First Car Accident by Alisha Goldblatt

Black and white photo of burnt out car
 

Tucked in her shell of gutsy metal, an errant art teacher spun my car into a snow bank. We shook after the collision, the grab handle, Jesus, pried loose, sun visor dangling like a hangnail from the inside roof. The glovebox archives our road lives, talismen from preschool classes, cassette tapes and their magnetic cellophanes spooling loose, expired disability placards lodged behind the tissue packets. The passenger side door was crinkled, discarded- candy-wrapper-style, and the back of my head felt like mayhem and grind. She didn’t see me turning right, despite my right of way, … Continue reading First Car Accident by Alisha Goldblatt

Jack Gilbert Keeps Lilacs Alive in his Head by Deborah Doolittle

Photo of house with full garden in front of/around it
 

  The lilacs hid the remains of a porch it used to screen. The hints of joints and steps leading up and between. Stone remnants of a foundation, a house that used to be stolid and presentable to the world. Flush with flowers, the branches bending low, bowing under their weight, I waited, too, shifting my own meager childish weight, from one foot to the other, sifting through those parts of me solid and true, walled in by my imagination, as white-washed walls rose back into view. The air heavy with its perfume. My head … Continue reading Jack Gilbert Keeps Lilacs Alive in his Head by Deborah Doolittle

When the Spring Winds are Strong, Wolf Spiders Balloon by Gary Grossman

Photo of railing with spiders webs between pailings.
 

  They’re up on the branch tips, all eight legs en pointe— one hundred and four chitinous arachnids, their tutus matching leafless twigs. These spiders parse every gust, like surfers scoping wind and swell; desirous wind, wind strong and constant, like the hot custard disc of June. When it blows faithful, they hoist their buttocks, as if spiders actually had buttocks, shooting life-lines of silk into wind—wind, now a sculptor’s hands, patting and twirling the silklines into a sail, or is it a parachute; aeronauts lifting into the air as if west was the only … Continue reading When the Spring Winds are Strong, Wolf Spiders Balloon by Gary Grossman

Maxed Out by Jason Montgomery

Swirls of corlors
 

This year my credit card company sent me a birthday card. In simple red, white and blue it wished me a happy birthday from Credit One. It is nice of my credit card to put the effort in to send a physical card when an email would have done it. My mom sent a text. My credit card puts the work in. It knows how to rupture and repair. It gives double miles at thousands of convenient locations all over the world. My credit card is senpai Uwu. I’ll never have to ask for it … Continue reading Maxed Out by Jason Montgomery

The Investment by Jacqueline Coleman-Fried

tropical plant in yellow and green rays of sun
 

My eyes, full of my husband’s body thinning, swelling, sleeping— too full to notice the plant, six feet tall, emerald leaves splitting, fraying the air. One, then another branch breaks, piercing my myopia. I weigh a faux substitute I can’t kill. Then think of my man, how this is his Costa Rica across from his TV and chair. Double down—spend a few hundred dollars, buy a pot large enough to hug, two fat bags of soil. Hire two strong men to tip the plant, coax it from its stranglehold into the large container without crushing. … Continue reading The Investment by Jacqueline Coleman-Fried

Hansel by Claire Rubin Scott

gingerbread house with tiny red car
 

Why does she get all the praise just because she pushed the witch into blood-burning flames it was me who gathered shiny white pebbles glistening like promises under a gibbous moon it was me who scattered breadcrumbs not my fault they were eaten by a murder of crows, slick and black it was me who the witch was fattening waiting like a flesh-eating ogress with taloned fingers and frenzied hair it was clever me who offered her the scrawny bone instead of my fleshy finger it was me, clever me, who whispered to Gretel tell … Continue reading Hansel by Claire Rubin Scott

The red onion by Deborrah Corr

pile of red onions
 

Deborrah Corr has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2024 Poetry Contest The red onion is a purple globe. I hold it, let my skin adore its slick, smooth contours. Then I bear down with a knife. A slice reveals a maze. No, I’ve misspoken. I’m mistaken. There are no passages with doorways through which you wander, puzzled how to get to the center and find your way back again. Just white corridors, inescapable layers, lined in lilac. Rotating, arriving always where you started. I begin to think monotony. I think hospital hallways, blank anxiety. … Continue reading The red onion by Deborrah Corr

It’s Done, Beautifully Again by Tim Suermondt

Several boats floating down a river in a darkening sky
 

Tim Suermondt has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2024 Poetry Contest It’s Done, Beautifully Again My wife, Pui Ying, shows me her latest poem “I hope I did what I wanted to do here.” What she did do is stark and lush, an abandoned castle, and a boulevard teeming with revelers opening the reserve of morning, a welcoming— how difficult it is to merge a heartache with a gratitude and make it work, on the page as well as in life. I tell her I may be stealing some of her images—the old dynasty … Continue reading It’s Done, Beautifully Again by Tim Suermondt

Plop by Mary Walsh

Photo of many birds on mass of wires tied to pole
 

Plop A Rorschach inkblot appears on the cement before me. I veer to avoid the disgusting mess. Weirdly white for a germ filled poop, I fail to find any meaning or truth in its shape. ………….Plop Another shape appears before me. Soon I will have trouble making it across the parking lot without soiling my shoes and smearing whatever truth the shape reveals. ………………..Plop Holy shit. This is no longer a test of my psychological health but a challenge to my agility and endurance. Can I see my future in this new shape? ………………………Plop The … Continue reading Plop by Mary Walsh