Poem by John Grey

Bless Bless the morning.Coffee-wise, sun-sensible,we can agree on whywe disagreed last night.The hour accedes to the rhythmof me unfolding the newspaper,you pouring milk into a glass.Of all the peace, I prefer the humblest,pajamas, bathrobe, buttered toast,and a day that has no rear-view mirror.Open the window.Soak in bird song.Not a note in there on howthe eagle took their young.John Grey is an

Poem by Donal Mahoney

Meg’s New WallsSue phones the hotel around midnight.Two weeks earlier, at her request,I took a room there.Three bags,half packed in the corner,are ready to go back.“There’s been a fire,”Sue says. I ask“Is everyone all right?”They are. “How did it start?”“My matches,” Sue says,“and one of the kids.”Weeks later, I visit the kidsat the house and findthe workmen have finished.From the top stair, Meg