issue 33 > poetry
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Pond
by Stephen GibsonVolunteers form on the sidewalk, then go down to the clearing:
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first thing spotted is the boy’s red tricycle in the drainage pond. -
Ossuary
by Stephen GibsonMy belief could never reside in a limestone, chiseled-out box.
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Bones in them might as well be Pollo Tropical in an ossuary. -
September
by Midge Goldbergwhen
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a yellow-green moth,
floating
down the dappled air, -
Preserves
by Midge GoldbergMy dad uses my dreams to age in
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now that he’s dead: -
untitled
by Ditta Baron HoeberI didn’t mind it so
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when my mother died
as she returned for the event -
forget - part ii
by Ditta Baron Hoebersometimes.
when I am spoken to
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I look at the birds out the window. -
forget - part iv
by Ditta Baron Hoebereverything you ever said
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hit
often
I answered with silence
but nothing missed me -
forget - part v
by Ditta Baron Hoebereating
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fork to mouth
taste chew forget. -
( )
by Ditta Baron Hoeberyou ask a question.
I see flash cards
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and can’t remember my arithmetic. -
The Sequel
by Henry IsraeliIn the next chapter
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after the waves lash over the breakers
taking down the levies that held the brackish waters
from my inland life,
I feel the blood stop cold in my body
and reverse its course. -
The Harrowing Business of Loss
by Henry IsraeliThe way the dog looks
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when she can’t find you. -
Time and Space
by Henry IsraeliHe watches his mother
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as if on an endless loop
of super-8 from 1969,
her legs turned to the side
as she sits on the grass -
Daughter of a Foreign God
by Henry IsraeliA girl steps out of a shadow
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and dissolves into sunlight—over and over
it plays out like protozoa backpedaling under
an eyelid, a burning photo. -
Abandoned Hollows
by Britt MelewskiBig blind things, faint
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Cries down in the lamb.
Saint Michael the destroyer, -
Because They Must
by Aaron PoochigianIn Qinghai Province modest dunes entomb
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Emperor Zhuanxu and a reading room
where you might find, among the spooled remains
of handscrolls from a literary age,
quaint metaphysics by a nameless sage. -
Mr. Either/Or
by Aaron PoochigianWashington Square, playground of NYU,
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and you are in the grass, your shoes and socks
like sloughed snakeskin around you. Speed-chess players
at concrete tables cuss and slap their clocks -
Li-ling Levine
by Aaron PoochigianYou are the man, but not quite everything
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that happens in this world belongs to you. -
Li-ling Levine II
by Aaron PoochigianMore peeved than panicked,
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she pounds parquet
out of the Arts
of Ancient China. -
Beyond Limits 9
by Salgado Maranhão. Translated by Alexis Levitin.Beyond Limits 9
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(epiphany) -
My Heart
by Ernő Szép. Translated by Eva M. Thury.I'd like to give my heart away as a present
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It always only brings me sadness anyway -
Frost's 'Misgiving'
by David SlavittIt’s a nice conceit: in the first three stanzas he
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imagines that leaves have feelings and on the tree
long to be loosed by the cold and wind to fly
free in the air they have been waiting to try. -
Omen
by Lewis TurcoThey were not fools: our parents always knew
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The mores, ways and words of all the white
Folk that surrounded us. Even their speech -
Setting the Table
by Lewis TurcoBooks, books, O books! Who needs those shelves
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O'er which we have been poring? -
The Mage
by Frank WilsonNo longer lie, immortal ashes,
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Adrift in memory’s vessel. Stay.
Enlighten my being’s dark dimensions