Category: poetry
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The Flood
by Fabrice B. Poussin Counting the drops, it is not always clear that a flood may be coming by way of the river. Walking on the tow path, mooing at the bovines, singing the melody familiar to the wild coyotes; no light seems to hold power over the new darkness; clouds thick as a dirty…
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The Dead by Maura O’Connor
one by one, they were all becoming shades… —James Joyce I fled your deaths. They happened anyway. Me, the missing witness. Michael, I will miss you most. The roses you gave me the night you told me you hated me. The song you wrote comparing my eyes to ocean my dreams to rainbow. It wasn’t…
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Imitation Tiffany
by Don Thompson (Father X) The old priest must have diedsoon after that Sunday,his last crack at the Eucharist.What was his name?Forgotten…But I still hear his voice,already faint and far away,sounding like he had cellophane in his lungs.We followed along in our prayer booksas he got lost now and then.The stained glass Jesus behind himhad…
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Two Poems by Margarita Serafimova
The Grave If my father is in it, the whole world is also there, headed by me – a fanfare. Along Athinas I was leading my heart by my hand. It was walking slowly as it was growing wings. & Margarita Serafimova Margarita Serafimova was shortlisted for the Montreal International Poetry Prize 2017, Summer Literary…
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Two Poems
by Margarita Serafimova The Grave If my father is in it,the whole world is also there,headed by me – a fanfare. Along Athinas I was leading my heartby my hand.It was walking slowlyas it was growing wings. Margarita Serafimova Margarita Serafimova was shortlisted for the Montreal International Poetry Prize 2017, Summer Literary Seminars Poetry Contest…
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The End of Whaling
by D.S. Maolalai and so we grew tired of lamp-oil. whaling too cruel a sport and death too much a price. dirty yellow light like tobacco-stained apartments. too cruel. better to crack the skin of rocks and dig down. and we did and black oil oozed forth, a boon without cruelty. more oil than we…
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The Smell of Hospitals
The Smell of Hospitals by D.S. Maolalai
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Signing Forms
by Catherine Zickgraf That December,home from school,I’d finish my shift at 3 a.m. My hands cracked gripping the wheel.My breath froze in my lungsI though they’d turn to stone. The houses, too, were hollow.The road, too, unlit.My job was to go home. I sat on the steps one afternoonwith my morning coffeeand watched: My younger…
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Postpartum
by Catherine Zickgraf Paper neighbors drape my couch.They hold the baby,bake casseroles I can’t taste.I nibble when he sleepsor sleep when he napsafter I’ve boiled the bottlesand washed some spoons. I awoke this morning on the roll of toilet paper.Seems it cushioned my cheek sufficientlywhen I slipped near dawn down the tiles. Postpartum lasts at…
Dream Noir 