Issue 8
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J. Chelius, My Way
Joseph Chelius My Way Father’s Day, and outside Giant,across from a herd of red-handled carts,a man in a plaid summer shirtand wide aviator frames,his gray hair wet and combed straight back,sits with his arms foldedin the open boat of his Chevy Impala.Perhaps he is waiting for a wife or daughterwho has gone insidefor cake frosting,…
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S. Mockler, On the Porch
Susan Bucci Mockler On the Porch You said you’d never be like them—sitting on heavy dining room chairsdragged out onto the porch, fanningtheir sweaty selves with the morning’s folded newspaper for any bit of a breeze it might create, sipping glasses of lemonade made from a powdered mix,the glasses sweating as much or more than…
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L. Buxbaum, You come home for a visit
Laura Buxbaum You come home for a visit and hang your laundry out to dry “Oh let there be nothing on earth but laundry” -Richard Wilbur, Love Calls Us to the Things of This WorldAnd if the tenderness of your shirt on the clothesline isn’t enoughstill it recalls to me the daysof tiny shirts flying…
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L. K. Sienkiewicz, A Life Shattered
Linda K. Sienkiewicz A Life Shattered Linda K. Sienkiewicz is the author of two novels, five poetry chapbooks, and a children’s picture book. A Pushcart Prize-nominated poet with a chapbook award, she holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing, serves as Honorary Director of Detroit Working Writers, and volunteers with a Michigan nonprofit, Neighborhood House. Back…
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M. Odessky Rosen, Road
Maria Odessky Rosen Road We were headed to the Sheremetyevo airport. This would be the last ride in our dearly beloved 1980 grey Lada. Dirt and dust enveloped the car, the air, and us, but it didn’t matter. Mama and I kept looking over our shoulders. Papa kept his eyes rigidly on the road and…
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C. Stolle, Map Points
Christopher Stolle Map Points side by side / westward bound / traversing /fire behind / time burned / festering /music ahead / familiar songs / harmonizingwide open / full throttle / accelerating /route chosen / destination improvised / fulfilling /rest stops / broken resolutions / expandinghorizons beckon / shadows caution / rubbernecking /cruise control /…
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S. Seybold, Grief
Sarah Seybold Grief I broke down in a field of dandelions,those weeds nobody loves,a rash of jagged leaveslike the yard where I grew up.May sun blazed.Yellow hurt my eyes.My mom is dead and will bethe remaining days I’m alive. Sarah Seybold’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Alaska Quarterly Review, Chicago Quarterly Review, Gulf…
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C. Cottom, Be My Everything
Chris Cottom Be My Everything They’re still loading their van as I move in. Young, perhaps half my age. He’s broad and muscly, she’s tiny. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Delay with my new place.’ My, not our. She hardly nods, doesn’t smile, says nothing. I heft my stuff up the stairs. There isn’t much. I’ll go…
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S. Ramkumar, Shift Workers
Surya Ramkumar Shift Workers We clock in, clock out,soles scraping stone.Building sandcastlesunder egg-white lights,dragging dreams by the bootstraps.The cuckoo calls—not song, but warning.We eat scraps of leaf and meat,not dainty cucumber salads,out of torn paper bags,taste the dust and grime.At the gates, a bagpiperplays—his notes raw.Half battle cry, half funeral.Dead tired, we still rise. Surya…
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S. Seybold, Tornado Season
Sarah Seybold Tornado Season Freight trains roar over the trailer roof. The light above the stove went out. Terrified, I huddled under covers, my little sister asleep beside me. Without seeing her or hearing her voice, I felt my mom’s presence in the dark as she rifled through my messy dresser where I kept the…