Lisa Dougherty/Poetry

A Raggity-Anne Her hair was short.  A kind of long Bob.  She was day-cared for the night time working Mom.  So she found my lap familiar.  First it was story time.   Sat her there.  Moved her arms as if they were an extension of we can be ridiculous sometimes.  She’d...

T.R. Hummer/Poetry

Trees of America I have seen these trees before, mostly in paintings    from the 19th century: that one is a Thomas Cole, Not really an oak; and this black walnut, though little    does it know, is in fact a fine example of an Eliza Pratt Greatorex. I never took a...

Lyn Lifshin/Four Poems of Aleppo

LIFE IN ALEPPO a day without bombs, is good. You can leave your apart- ment, wander thru small oasis of color and light. No words, only the sense of loss. No color except for an plot of green and one plum tree, not turned to drift wood. One man who has not left, says...

Cammy Pedroja/3 Poems

The Invisible Man   By the window, on a black bone chair the germs leave your body through smoke. Can two tandem blankly to bash out a cure? I have read that drones die in the act of mating. Honey-stomachs busting in the rub of it. The longtime residents warned...

Reme Terrelonge/Poetry

Songbird’s Strum Storm Anaphora happens at the beginning. Anaphora is a prelude. Anaphora has not started to move. Anaphora is shaky. Anaphora shines obliviously. Anaphora introduces it anew. It is the birth.   An enigma is contained by small spaces. An enigma...