Life by the river

Life by the river Jamie Samdahl Every afternoon I swallow rain and it puts me to sleep     beside you I cross over     into your river dreams      each time our temples touch the muddiness     the sway of the bridge is irresistible...

The Saint Of Small Things, Weeping

The Saint Of Small Things, Weeping Margaret Wack Poison has always been the old enemy and usual culprit. Hunting, sometimes, though not as often anymore: stones, traps, snares, guns. The crunch, the blood. Best if quick, to fill some other stomach. Worse for sport,...

The Gifts

The Gifts Sandi Leibowitz For Sara Cleto and Brittany Warman The sisters parted once the gifts were given. No need now to thread their lives through a single needle; each had her own path to stitch. The younger one loved spring best so her work spilled grape hyacinths...

Shobhana Kumar: Lessons in Mango Picking

It’s not just the announcement of summer. If you look close enough you can pick a thing or two about patience and then letting go. You know life can turn against you— how you can be plucked from your roots, young, weather it all and still remain remarkably...

Seo-Young Chu: Life 38

Under my desk, head against wall, limbs folded in heaps on the floor, I open my eyes. (My body, it seems, migrated here last night.) Fingers are tangled in cords and computer wires. In my dream, the dream from which I am still awaking, those same fingers are tangled...

Jennifer Crow: Fallen to Witches

The world catches its breath after harvest, ghosts of leaves drifting across the fields into heaps of tarnished gold, and the hunters ride out, shouts like weapons echoing sharp from the hills. How long I wait, cool evenings shivering against my skin, dreams curdling...

B. Clifford: An Elegy

Red earth and yellow sun and blood pouring out my mouth. Crisp oceans and pale eyes and a calligraphed smile on your lips. There was poison in your bones even then wiring fraying inside the honeycomb labyrinth, a minotaur stalking your blueing arteries. I don’t...

Brendan McBreen: where are you, / Nessie?

where are you, Nessie Nessie? submerged in endless doubt traveling the Paleolithic and and back between camera clicks just missed? are you in cardboard model heaven? forward looking sonared to distraction tired of the limelight tired of doubters and fakers the...

Ken Poyner: Puppy Love

I will never meet Molly: Her slender three-sixty rotating arms, Her arch-sway thundering legs, her Incline balance to forty-five degrees. I will never sit across from her Trying half the night to figure The loop modulus in her blink pattern, The keywords that elicit a...

Ajapa Sharma – Calcutta: An Ode to an Unborn Life

Damp vapor engulfs my existence; the heat runs up to my ears. The city is a hallucination, dizzy with excess life – churning my stomach into a violent nausea. In the night, somewhere in the back yard, small lives hum and buzz, jackfruits drop – plop, burst open, and...