sprovence
-
J. Browne, Pseudacris crucifer
Jennifer Browne Pseudacris crucifer / Spring peeper A storm starts, flashing lightning, thunder, heavy rain, and somehow, still, I hear the chorus of peepers, think of clouds moving over the land between us. My grandmother said lightning was good for plants, would carry pots out to the porch to charge their particles. I wait for…
-
D. Forrest, Domestic Gravity
Dagne Forrest Domestic Gravity For such a big creature, my dog loves to go small,loading himself gingerly into the tightest of spaces,a sleek, furred missile. Underfoot, he’ll shimmy and haulhimself over the dusty carpet. The cats’ blank facesignored as he locks into place, slips a sigh or soughat the living room’s stale entropy. Slowly, a…
-
P. Landsman, Not Carl Sandburg’s Fog
Peggy Landsman Not Carl Sandburg’s Fog The fog is heavy inside me today.Imagine an elephant the size of the moon!That’s how heavy the fog.And when it lifts and lets its feet falltwo at a time, two at a time,the footprints that follow eclipse my mind’s eyes.Blindly, I finger the holes in the heavensthat let my…
-
M. McGee, A Gift You Can’t Refuse
Matt McGee A Gift You Can’t Refuse The fog always settles over the street this time of night, just after 2:30 am. The neighborhood is asleep. Most won’t notice the little red Ford putter down the street, whining in a voice only a manual transmission can speak. The car is almost polite in its movement,…
-
L. Hechtman Ayers, Gaze
Lana Hechtman Ayers Gaze a haibun When the moon rises above the horizon, casts its pearlescent glow, no one complains that its light is second-hand.every face you meet your own Lana Hechtman Ayers has shepherded over a hundred thirty poetry volumes into print in her role as managing editor for three small presses. Her work…
-
J. Angela Edwins, The Poems
Jo Angela Edwins The Poems You Have Yet to Write sleep comfortably in tallevergreens beyond your line of sight.God-like, they are there, you know it,but you cannot touch them, do notalways trust them, often believethey are figments of your imagination,which, of course, they are. Most days,like death, they never cross your mind,but when they do,…
-
A. Lowe, Origami
Alice Lowe Origami We kvetch about the way men want to solve everything, offer solutions when all you want them to do is listen and get it, have your back. Linda and I walk and talk. I tell her about my writing hiatus. I’m stuck, I say, need to give myself a respite, clear my…
-
H. King, Proverbially
Hilary King Proverbially The apple doesn’t fall far from a thousand words.A bird in the hand is thicker than water.Beggars can’t keep the doctor away.Necessity begins with a single step.When in Rome, before they hatchbirds of a feather spoil.Time is mightier. Originally from the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, Hilary King is a poet now…
-
S. Coultrap-McQuin, The Ordinary Ones
Susan Coultrap-McQuin The Ordinary Ones Praise the Ditch Lilies’ existencethe optimistic orange onesalways reaching for sun, alwaysadding vibrance to their place.Praise their calm endurancedespite sneers by master gardeners being mowed by haughty townsin search of a fancier look.Praise their ordinary persistencegrowing wherever they cannot bothered by anonymityhappy to mix with leaves and grass.Yes, praise all…
-
S. Lang, Rescue
Susanna Lang Rescue A storm blew in as we arrived at our neighbors’ door—welcoming us, they forgot that they’d left their baby rabbit, caged, in the garden. They’d found her burrowed into their blanket during an outdoor concert. Now, a small handful of wet fur clinging to me, her head was silky between the small…