Two Poems
Poetry James Croal Jackson Decade Dead I exist in a perpetual state of thirst and cold. I think I live in winter and I don’t even like Christmas. And I don’t like Christ, the dead man left hanging....
View Articlea brief history of my pubic hair
Poetry Ann Pedone I. I wanted him to want me more than his ex I wanted him to keep fucking me maybe even marry me so I ignored the voices of Gloria Stein em and Judith Butler in my head … Continue...
View Article“Every meal begins with your hands”
Poetry Simon Perchik Every meal begins with your hands dry and around your forehead squeezes into its hiding place —in such a darkness both shoulders slump forward till they hear the tablecloth pulled...
View ArticleA Wall Of Pictures
Broker’s Pick Madeleine Claire A wall of pictures was the reminder of a life built throughout many years. In the pretty, white frames was the pretty family on holidays, at weddings, at parties, kids’...
View ArticleFive Poems
Poetry Mandy Haggith Foxglove Lynn’s brush is delivering a foxglove, a vixen birthing a cub, lick by lick, onto the paper. Hush settles. Lynn’s brush is smoothing the surface until the foxglove is...
View ArticleSouvenir
Poetry Jenny Hockey I found a Chinese baby’s shoe with a bell to warn off mice that’s smaller by far than any shoe I’ve worn and holds only the ghost of my fat-toed child’s first pair, one lost on a …...
View ArticleThree Poems
Poetry W. Joseph O’Connell Incision I deny myself the pleasure that comes from her… things she did for me swimming every morning, cutting myself at night therapy is happening, in softness of heart...
View ArticleTwo Poems
Poetry Liam Tait washing dishes I was washing the dishes. I scrubbed, lathered, rinsed. My hands grabbed each plate in turn, then felt them all over—abrasively, I’d scrape the sponge. When the grime...
View ArticleDecades as Seasons
Poetry DJ Tyrer The decades seem like seasons to me. The ‘Eighties a winter of contentment: Dark and dreary with rain and snow Yet warm with love and comfort. The ‘Nineties a long, hot summer of the...
View ArticleThree Poems
Beaver’s Pick Jenny Hockey Waking Up in Someone Else’s House 7.15, not too bad and bright North Sea light edging through the shutters. The floor will be cold, I know— not the floor but a granite hearth...
View ArticleTwo Poems
Poetry Kathleen Bryson Smoking The forests were burnt down when I was two. By the time I was a child, we called the trees matchsticks. Slim charred trunks topped with tumors. If the God of Alaska...
View ArticleFour Poems
Baker’s Pick Marchell Dyon Tiny Dancer She dances… Like all ugly ducklings do. After, finally, discovering she is indeed a swan… She dances… With her daydreams. Here metal never chimes— Her leg braces...
View ArticleFour Poems
Poetry Joanne Holdridge Giving This Back In my grandmother’s kitchen alone with you you cut my hair. Trembling with fear, not desire I stumble through the words while your hands linger in my hair brush...
View ArticleIroning Day
Poetry Vicki Mandell-King In bygone days, it was not just this drudgery that could make a housewife want to run away. Still, this is a weighty thing— the heat, the steam, the heft of the iron, the...
View ArticleTwo Poems
Poetry Timothy Pilgrim Montana Watercolor I dip my brush, paint a depression turned from fawn to gray, beyond the wheat, next farm down. Re-dip, add old age, barn, weathered, sagging—rafter rot most...
View ArticleTwo Poems
Beaver’s Pick Jenny Hockey Weaned Submerged in our north-facing bath I remembered you’d had no evening feed. Tummy to sheet in your cot, by then you were soundly asleep and so they were over for good...
View ArticleFive Poems
Baker’s Pick Russell Rowland On Hold Shadows lengthen, hours since I shaved; the tune da capo, recorded fib recycles: “Your call is important to us.” In our meetinghouse, a higher call: we celebrate...
View ArticleNorth Haven, Sunday
Poetry Nathaniel Krenkel You were leaving on the last ferry Down to Portland to see old friends And so, While you were at work I packed the car with your bag, put a can of seltzer Between the seats...
View ArticleFour Poems
Poetry DS Maolalai Snores they come rolling, floating like storm- broken ships with masts and with rigging hung ragged. the wind blowing hard through a long- empty mine shaft, catching spars sawed...
View ArticleThree Poems
Poetry David Sapp Courtroom It was the same wooden sound As the pews at Saint Vincent, The same complaint of arthritic joints, The same burnished surface Slipping beneath my fingertips, The same lemony...
View Article