[frame align=”right”][/frame]Here on the eve of a noisy election, I am experiencing what some have referred to as media fatigue. There was a song in the Sixties about “useless information” and lately I find myself talking back to the TV journalists, snarling at the screen, mouthing and mumbling like an adolescent at the back of the class. “So what?” and “Who cares?” Well, I do care, but right now I long for white space. In my life and on the page. I flip through travel brochures and stare at the photographs—the lost city of Petra, … Continue reading Are We There Yet?→
Hello, I am currently under threat of hurricane, and electrical power/internet access could be cut at any moment, so I will be brief: I recently attempted to write a short story in the form of the narrating character’s first-person blog. It was difficult, to say the least, largely because the narrator was a low-key software engineer approaching 30 and living in Maryland with his wife and child. The main difficulty came from the fact that this character was in no way realistically allowed to be verbose. He could have some wisdom, and make insightful observations … Continue reading Why Is Every “I” Also a Genius?→
This year, Poetry Magazine has been celebrating its one-hundredth birthday. It’s not unheard of for a magazine to last a hundred years, even in this country where things get old fast, but it’s still unusual enough to note. And for another reason: not only has Poetry been celebrating its birthday all year long by publishing notable poets from its past alongside the contemporary – it also has published an anthology. I got notice of this in the mail last week and so I pass on the news to anyone who might want to know about it. One … Continue reading One Hundred Years of Poetry→
Everett’s mother sobbed loudly as he stepped onto his front porch and let the storm door crash against the house. He had to get out of that house, though. It was all full of church people and casseroles. The neighbors, too, were all patting him on the back, asking how he was doing. And Pastor Samuel had the nerve to ask him, right in front of his mother, if he was still trying to get into Kent State after high school. “No,” he said. How could he now? He wandered over towards the railroad tracks … Continue reading Lost in Detroit by Kathryn Christian→
Streetlight’s third issue features the work of Charlottesville painter Cynthia Burke and photographer John Grant. They talk here about the progression and process of their work. Cynthia Burke SL: Cynthia Burke, how did you come to paint birds and animals, especially ones often dressed in such imaginative finery? CB: Coming from New York City, I didn’t know anything about animals..I didn’t have a chance to be around them…I think I’ve always been a little scared of animals. A lot of my animals are dressed up, maybe to make them humorous and a little more friendly. Some … Continue reading Art in Albemarle and Beyond…{issue no.3}→
Voices I would be sitting there idly twirling the strawberry perched on top of the plump red pincushion while she was hunched over the singer filigreed foot pedal making rhythmical clicking sounds as sky blue fabric folded in creamy waves under the needle mother’s voice soft and dreamy answering someone only she could hear a revelation to me that anyone else could have a surging inner-life when I had always assumed each stitch every sigh was meant for me alone Janice Bowen says, “When poetry found me, I was lollygagging — leading an easy … Continue reading Voices by Janice Bowen→
Katie on Fire Sunset and silence, chocolate bars and coffee— Katie fingers rifle shells after dinner, stacked in rows and flicked the way a child does dominoes. These mountains have a way of messing with one’s marbles, loose, scattered…sometimes spilled. She had banked on babies, and her husband holding still; got busted fence instead, scattered cattle, a cold bed. Tomorrow— ten inches of new snow twenty degrees, and another dog to bury. Peach blossoms in April— she can only dream pounding the floorboards raw pacing off caffeine. Fresh butter beans, strawberries ripe and dirt … Continue reading Katie on Fire; Just a Drip by Dan Bieker→
Woman at the Post Office An old woman’s trouble in deciding is holding up the line. Another crowd, another time, a loudmouth might complain, but here in mid-morning, the retired, mothers, students, all stand quiet. Her jaw slowly slackening, insistence draining from her face. Finally, she lifts her finger —a pronouncement, or merely a flicker?— and the clerk says, that’ll be seven-fifty. We witnesses stop holding our breath. She reaches into her bag, that reflex intact, and no wonder, considering how a woman’s life is comprised of procurement. The clerk hands back her change. … Continue reading Woman at the Post Office by Kristen Staby Rembold→
Optional Yoga at Sunrise We’re told to drop into each breath then release the air like wind in the trees. Outside, a windmill slices light. The murmuring pines are all piñons. The desert flows into the mountains. The air is dry as sand. We’re told to look but not to focus, but I can close both eyes and follow a ripple of wind across a lagoon where it reaches a beach outlined by palms, barely ruffling their fronds. My yoga wants to be the balmy kind, the early morning dozing kind. With practice and … Continue reading Optional Yoga at Sunrise by Daniel Becker→
“The Art of the 15th and 16th centuries is a gold mine of inspiration for me as well as the lithographs of the early Naturalists. I am also drawn to textiles and often have backgrounds resembling rich fabrics. The diversity of the natural world yields a never-ending supply of subjects for my paintings, however I never place my subjects in their natural environment. It seems far more interesting to give them a little of ours. The result is sometimes humorous and, I hope, often thought provoking. The accessories in my paintings which seem … Continue reading Art by Cynthia Burke→
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