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

Poem by Linda Leedy Schneider

Conversations: Emergency roomWhere does it hurt?I have a pain in my chest that goes up into my left jaw. I have never felt a pain like this before.Where does it hurt?To the ends of each hair, through my bones,the space that held my uterus, but mostly to my heart.What medications do you take?Cenestin, a natural hormone replacement, Trazadone for sleep.What medications do you take?I drank mother’s

Poem by Divya Rajan

fluctuosityif ever existedstring of sumptuous syllableslaid on a chili forsaken, crumpled sheet underneath sun's maple rayshung out to dry on a nylon clothesline with clips resembling crisscross daisiesnecked bead to bead yet light as on icehumming memory- tinged tunesbasking baskingsilhouette sweetly nestledcocooned inside a coconut- y tough exteriorhard to crack as nourishment restssoft

Poem by Bob Bradshaw

MaybeI had never known anyonewho kept fresh oranges and bananaslounging in their smudge-free bowls.I was used to fruit sulking.Not that she couldn't be bitchy.She played tennisin white skirts and a blouse trimmedblue like her china.You know the type.But there's something to be saidfor an apartment emphasizing stripes:love seat, towels, spider plants and evenbright fish who drift for

Poem by Chris Crittenden

Rain In the Streetseverywherestripped-down gargoyles.a thirsty cubismof the grotesque.the carnage polishingthe apathy of tar.buffing a phalanxof windshield frowns.the sizzle denseas circles writhe away,boulevards of tanglesingested by iron.people shrivel to fretin a brick-laden algebra,afraid of the shapelessfreedom from the sky,reminded of their squelched pulseand the storms in