Issue 7
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D. Corr, Blue Billed Brothers
Deborrah Corr Blue-Billed Brothers We arrive at this pocket of a park, tucked between the flow of a river and the hard stand of industry. As if a floodgate opens, the hungry, hopeful, greeting committee pours over the grassy mounds. Quack and feathers, hurried bodies bob back and forth. Obedient to the signs that say,…
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M. Chester, Bradwoods Blackbirds
Meredith Chester Bradwoods Blackbirds As a child, when I first noticed oak trees move their branches in a breeze, my surprise was like first realizing soccer jerseys mix their purples and oranges on the field, drawn from their separate sides toward the ball; or the polka dotted bows on my shirt becoming an unwelcome conversation…
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A. Stephens, Postscript
Aleithia Stephens Postscript At the railway station, I purchase picture postcards, fifteen pence apiece. College crests, turreted roofs, checkerboard lawns. Punters propelling cheerful couples up and down the Thames. They make it look so elegant, so easy.Here’s one of the Radcliffe Camera. Home to the Bodleian History Faculty Library, an imposing repository for more than…
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A. Burris, Early Days
Allison Burris Early Days Spring is cutting her milk teethdipping a proverbial toeinto the waters of sunshineintermittent showerseasily lost, she’s continually turningthe map to orient herselfleft from right, up from sidewaysSpring confuses “up the street”and “down the street” as ifthese were not interchangeableapproximations of continuationSpring leaves the pathbecause cherry blossoms are fleetingbulbs are an eventSpring…
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L. Kuntz, No Fun Anymore, Says the World
Laurie Kuntz No Fun Anymore, Says The World Vast, that is how my denizens call to me: a vastness sometimes filled, sometimes empty,I have not forgotten these days when I ignore, those who need my greenery,my clean air, my mineral-coated heartto thrive where bombs echoand lives blast to places renamed nowhere.Do not remind me of…
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C. Liderbach, The Erie Named Her Crooked River
Cora McCann Liderbach The Erie Named Her Crooked River For too long, the Cuyahoga ferried factory oil and debris. The river caught fire in the sixties. Today, she’s healed enough to nurture young sturgeon again. Hundreds of Clevelanders line the winding waterway, wait for a bucket holding a single juvenile. My husband and I stare…
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JR Fenn, Hauling Water
JR Fenn Hauling Water After a laundromat shower, $10 for 30 minutes, our skin is newborn-soft, burnished from heat-lamps and nozzle pressure. Our jugs, filled outside ShopRite, weigh us down as we climb the hills to our cabins. When we bear water over the paths, through the forest, we know its rarity; the water table…
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R. Ticktin, Losing our Essence
Ruth Ticktin Losing our Essence First, we lose surface water in creeks, the freshwater in ponds diminishes, and our lakes dry up. Then rivers recede, leaving us with lines of moist rocks.Dead fish and decayed flora smell putrid. Every breath is filled with foul odors.Over time, the seas turn into bays. Miles of landlocked boats…
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D. LeBlanc, Slicing Cherries the Day After a Federal Agent
Diane LeBlanc Slicing Cherries the Day After a Federal Agent Murdered Renée Good My fingers crack and bleed in winter, but blood is nothing like thisdeep red juice seeping under my nails as I slice cherries into a bowl of yogurt. Yesterday we marched. Today we mourn.Yes, Renee Good was a poet. But her blood…
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T. Shah, History Round Up
Tabassam Shah History Round Up Tabassam Shah is a Southeastern Pennsylvania poet. Her poetry collection, Red & Crescent Moons, reflects upon Pakistani American family life in rural Appalachia. She is active in the poetry advocacy group BerksBards, based in Reading. A Highlights Foundation scholarship recipient, Tabassam is working on picture books about Pakistani American childhood.…