by Jeffrey Zable
Of course we’re all in different stages of dying,
but it seems that those who are closest to it
are mostly the ones talking about it.
Tag: poem
Push Through
by Doug Raphael
There are days
Adam and I would walk
by the sawdust silt banks
of the Medway River,
to a patch of grass
Unstuck
by Scott Bethay
1.
Profane, breathless June
air thick with perfume
of cigarettes and makeup
Made in America
by Margaret E. Gillio
After reading Jordan Salama and Adrienne Rich
See the dark trucks
across the street.
They encircle a man,
pin him down.
Draw the blinds, stop
answering the door.
We watch in a silence like a rushing river
where I drown. I fear this silence.
One More for the Pile
by E. L. McKee
Impossible to separate them;
like the grain of sand around which
a mirror-bright pearl is formed,
Read More »In View of What’s Returned
by H.T. Reynolds
A mother strokes her daughter’s hair,
carefully avoiding the ventilator tubing,
humming You Are My Sunshine through
tears and mechanical breathing
Consolation
by Stephen Mead
Every Wednesday it has rained since the rainy Wednesday of your death,
those nights, that rain – comfort, comfort – bringing you again.
I fast to this but for fluids, my body’s parched plains thirsty for each teeming bead
& all that hush of shimmering liquid slate.
Random Two Cents & Teacups
by Émilie Galindo
Her advice –uncalled for and diagnosed from across the 9-to-5 arm’s length desk–was to crank down my features to a wary cinder block wall. To water down my hyperbolic & cartoonish emoting to tepid and tight-lipped detachment. If I had a cup, it’d be filled with years of those unbegged for two cents.
Read More »Where exactly?
by Louis Faber
Look at this picture carefully.
They fill the streets, singing
carrying signs, demanding freedom
Read More »Almost
by Paul Hostovsky
It’s the almost that I love
about a gray day
like today. In weather
like this, I almost
Read More »