Then I Returned to the House of the Slow Letting Go I went out into the evening, walked alone with my clippers to dead-head the marigolds the peonies, no longer spinning planets, and the now brown-leafed rhododendrons. I picked up my watering can to slake a thirsty fern, pulled yellow aromatic leaves off the pink geraniums, surprised a brown thrasher in the grass, bent to weed a circle of flowers. The house stood filled with the presence Of the dying man. It was his garden he’d brought back from wildness, tended with the dry … Continue reading Then I Returned to the House of the Slow Letting Go by Irene Wellman→
Stevie Nicks Under the strobes guitar hands, neon blonde. She sings like a forty-year-old child, wears a witch’s cape. Tosses back her jukebox tenor to the audience. We stone up, all the freaks in the back row, breathless. Where was I going before I heard her music? Back when the world was hunger, and we only took. Ann Robinson’s work has appeared in American Literary Review, Connecticut Review, Fourteen Hills, Hiram, Poet Lore, Spoon River Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and Whiskey Island Review among others. Her poetry book Stone Window, by Bark for Me Publications, came out … Continue reading Stevie Nicks by Ann Robinson→
Back from Wales To headline news of health care, guns, and Syria, the coastal path slipped away, sea breeze ceased, only traffic noise, but I remember— Ahead of me behind me dominion over roads runs the hard brown path that scores cliffs, heather, gorse, and thrift, that joins villages and masters fog. Walkers I pass have small drugged smiles, sheep mill and dine in ordinary splendor. How perfect the Kestrel kiting, brown triangle pinned to sky, backlit feathers steady, spread, balanced with wind, only the head shifts in his search of prey, then unpinned … Continue reading Back from Wales by Marti Snell→
First impressions can be unexpected. Driving into Athens and looking at its poorer parts, my wife and I first thought of Mexico. When I went to see the Parthenon, it was soon clear I could never escape a crowd of tourists snapping pictures… I knew its significance, but felt alienated from its actual, physical presence. At a loss, I wandered into the ancient Theatre of Dionysus where the great plays were first performed in a rare moment when entertainment and a profound impulse to understand man and fate coincided. I found the … Continue reading Finding Greece by Lance Lee→
Dickey Ride Three hours north of Augusta, the music pumped through our car speakers asks on repeat Don’t you want a dickey ride? Don’t you want a dickey ride? I must admit I think I do, only what I want is akin more to that James Dickey, canoe down a river, drunk fun voyage, something action, some adventure, but not even that. It’s the ride I’m in now, four friends in a Ford carousing around Rabun, North Georgia chanting mid-90s rap to mica-lined rocks, them shining back like broken disco balls, sort of a … Continue reading Dickey Ride by David Moody→
Amending Gray When does the snow begin to fall? I try to witness the change as the theme of this season grays. Bolts of felt clouds roll across the heavens, a basket of straight pins spills into the night, and I’ve been sewing a lot of gray, not to be somber, but to sway light as mist, soft as the winter coat of a wolf. Snug in my velvet jacket, fleece slippers, cotton sweats, their subtle weaves showing— not that I want anyone to notice me, to see what I wear sitting alone at … Continue reading Amending Gray by Anne Bromley→
Desert Desperado “Sometimes a person has to go a very long distance out of his way to come back a short distance correctly.” —Edward Albee What I wanted was a resurrection of love a love bearing all the gravity of one’s lifetime What I remember is being dead for all purposes the glint in my eye a sore memory of hope and regret Nothing else visits my imagination at this time the heavy smell of urine transforms any moment into being 28 and caught way beyond redemption strung out two nights in a squalid concrete … Continue reading Desert Desperado by Cara Marinucci→
The Missing Sugar of 1981 The footloose villages of her own probable Argentina have been meadowed now and pastured. She’s a gutter-cat licking the bakery window. The storage space her brain built flooded. If you didn’t know the river, you might think it doesn’t bite. I’m speaking of intentions now in an old suit worn like moss. I can’t wave goodbye in Spanish or collect branches, water roots, prune envy. Gratitude doesn’t live here. The cat’s still pretending to be just a cat. The yellow wolf of uncertainty comes calling. You don’t even trust … Continue reading The Missing Sugar of 1981 by Rich Ives→
Stranger Among Other Phantoms Someone invisibly disturbs several finished Cigarette butts and barely gathers a nod At the acceleration of a crowd. The ticket Line’s for impatient aches – there’s no wit to dissuade The routine. Stalked by clumsy bags and instruments, Commuters and distance travelers, the rich and Penny-counters, four handsome students and a fat, Unscrubbed sort—all defended by miscellany— Compete for angles and rewards. Mostly, They fidget and don’t quite ask a question, while glares Perform the reproof of an agent, who slowly counts Light change or lengthy tickets and who replies … Continue reading Stranger Among Other Phantoms by Chester Johnson→
Invitation to an Empty Church In the rafters: hungry, silent mice. Down below: the civilized ask light to forgive them mediocrity. The light they seek is a cage in the rafters above glass stained in saviors, where holes fall from holes in the ceiling. The women pass coins onto plates like brooches to grandchildren who will never wear them. Someone knocks at the sealed door but won’t be let in. Nobody remembers how they entered or if light ever completes. A great voice asks the windows mirror-questions, and we pretend we haven’t lost our … Continue reading Invitation to an Empty Church by John Sibley Williams→
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