Issue 3
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J. Angela Edwins, We Put the Chickens Away
Jo Angela Edwins We Put the Chickens Away Last Night and Couldn’t Find Grace first sentence of a social media post and we led the cows to the barn and lost all hope,and while latching the horse stalls we looked for love,but it was nowhere to be found, even in the penwhere the pigs grunted…
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K. Baum DeBeasi, Flight
Kristen Baum DeBeasi Flight An enthusiasm of pigeons takes to air, wings beating a bravi, bravia grazie for the crumbs cast by passing handof human with the eyesto see the exultant chorus, to witness the joy of gathering, congregating, murmurating, the simple pleasure of soaring Kristen Baum DeBeasi writes poems, stories, and music. She has…
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J. Prinsen, Simile
Jeannie Prinsen Simile Darting from bush to tree, the cardinal looks like a scarlet fish swimming through blue water, its wings a blurof fins. Wind rustling in treetops sometimes sounds like new rain. For a few moments at least, dawncan be mistaken for twilight.Things resemble other things,that’s no surprise. But in the end, we need…
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E. Ann Walker, Cardinal Phonetics
Elinor Ann Walker Cardinal Phonetics If cardinals symbolize visitors from another realm, souls populate trees at dusk, linger last at my feeders & fountains, hunger & thirst the longest. I saw twelve silhouetted in crape myrtles, crests & beaks arrowed against sky, the only birds still out. What does that suggest of souls? Or how…
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P. Cashorali, A Single Green Leaf
Peter Cashorali This World is a Single Green Leaf As vast as fragile,As present as unlikely,Growing by the side Of one of its own roads,Its root hid underOur amazement,That someone we knewOnce told us about,That we took on faith or notUntil we saw itFirst time ourselves. Peter Cashorali is a neurodivergent queer psychotherapist in private…
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L. Rzeznik, Pie
Leslie Rzeznik Pie we could be the clatter of twoknives cutting butter into flourwe could be the creaming of sugarand eggs by spinning cageswe could be cinnamon and cardamomginger and cloves ground into dustcould we find pleasure in the cutof a knife, the releaseof a cage, the gaspof dust?the limb about to leaf shedswinter’s husk…
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J. Hassmann, Buddies
Jan Hassmann buddies the average lifespan of a taste bud is ten daysyet bitterness staysand staysand stays Jan Hassmann first studied and then taught English Literature at universities far from home. He has recently returned to Europe, where he runs an amicable poetry club in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. His poetry and prose have appeared in WireWorm…
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K. Lazorchak, Pomegranate, Dissected
Karina Lazorchak Pomegranate, Dissected A nurse enterswith a warm handAnd a swollen heart, Desperate for a taste of tartness tosoothe the pain ofdiscordant hospital roomsShe reaches toward thescarlet sculpture,wearing a Sweet’n Low smileto hide the sour withinBloody, ripe flesh sits patiently on the operating table,All veins and arteriesopen for observationA pip bursts in twoand its…
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D. Lassell, Eventual Light
Daniel Lassell Eventual Light Though the dawn anticipates blessing the shed’s glossed shovel,the packets of waiting seeds seethe, dropped into empty pots along the shed’s exterior.Another day and they are againto witness the morning’s warmth, victims of procrastination. Where is the gardener? Drinking coffee on the porch again? The seeds, eager for burial, desire the…
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D. Kotsiopolous, When the Nursing Home
Dorian Kotsiopolous When the Nursing Home Wants to Know How We Are and What We Should Do With His Belongings I thinkhow he came to this country all by himself from Louvri, a tiny village in Greece, with few belongings and how he left with few belongings, but in between how he cradled the first…