Category: Poetry

by Ava Grace I was soft handed till you took my hands into yoursDo you see these scars? They are yours, from all the words i’ve writtenAnd I thought I knew who I was but I don’t anymoreI don’t know anything cause how could you get to me so easilyYou’re like smoke stuck to my…

by Steve Fay What sleeps inside your form, your hair, your bone?Ever it expands as breath—or does it stifle,as the unvoiced consonant inside that name?As the weight of the awaiting train.As the tractor rolling over that dead boywho stopped going to your school.As memory of the beads of mercury your finger nudgedaround the linoleum floor,…

by R. Gerry Fabian She goes to the blanket chest, rummages aroundand pulls out a folder marked, ‘love directions.’Slowly unfolding it on the farm table,she is surprised by the length.Still, she jots down noteson the lined yellow pad next to her: Hold hands.Passionate kisses.A gift for no reason.Date night.Couch cuddles.A favorite meal.Afternoon intimacy. She sighs…

by Rekha Valliappan Once I had two wooers. One was an angled cow, the other was a spirited blackbird. The cow ruminated love letters to me with grassy metaphors, I never fully understood. The blackbird pecked my fingertips in polished pearls, fashioned from early morning dew drops, I did. At that moment in time I…

by Jonathan Everitt Hypothesis inspired by a myth, we named her Theia,for a Titaness. The size of Mars, her failed orbitsent her hurdling toward Earth, still a molten sea. Direct hit fused two planets’ iron cores, reset our axis,separating autumn from spring. Theia’s violent endmade a merged Earth enveloping a parasitic iron twin. And we…

by Rekha Valliappan I seek no shadowed earth, no moonstruck face when the yard is snowy full. When north winds waft over snake pits, silent as bats in flight one cave to the next, I wheel the acceleration, dig the bare bones of shoveled invigoration to final flare. I see no bloom transforming each blowing…

by Mary Honaker I try to reel in parts of who I was, but they are attached to me by filaments of spider webs. The web disintegrates at a touch, and I am no one. The web gleams at a certain angle of light — once a year the sun strikes it right — and…

by Mary Honaker Gravity is stronger because I am ill. I feel the constant pull of the earth. I drop to my knees and rest my forehead on the floor. Words get lost in the corridors of my brain. Your mouth is moving, and sound is coming out. I’ve been asked a question I can’t…