Today apples tumble
as wind tears them from trees,
and they bounce and roll
in the dying grass
as though you were here again
with your calloused hands,
your enormous eyes half-closed
coming over the hill
bringing the early snow,
you who crossed the border,
who passed into darkness and night.
Steve Klepetar has recently moved from frigid Minnesota to balmy Massachusetts, but he still has a mind of winter.
I see in the B, her generous swirls,
her upward curve, the everything’s alright
of Barbara-with her fine cigarettes,
glasses of wine, the aroma of bread
she toasted for me, dripping with butter,
bubbling cinnamon-the jar with her name,
Barbara née Ball, my mom,
and spilling from the edges, the ring
of wide-open flowers.
Laura Foley likes to sit in the woods near her home in Vermont and listen to the stillness, the birds, and her dogs.
It was good to clean
he would use
for his last kill,
when he would bag
the elusive prey
he had stalked
all his life
Mark Butler is still crazy after 68 years of searching for one true sentence.
I woke in the morning to the rain
tiptoeing on the windowsill and thought.
Jeff Kennedy is a Mexican-Canadian-American living in California where he writes code by day and poetry by night. His work can be found in Right Hand Pointing, Locution Zine, and elsewhere.
As if sensing
my world needed brightening,
all the street lamps
lit up at once —
and for a moment, I forgot
(with a child’s neon wonderment)
there‘s no such thing
Elizabeth Alford (Hayward, CA) spends long hours typing short poems on her iPhone. http://facebook.com/ElizabethAlfordPoetry
Maybe that’s what she meant
when I saw her for just that moment,
handcuffed and gleeful, a thinker
without a filter, propped on the curb
while police roamed around her, cigarette dangling between her lips
Lisa Zaran thinks life is a dream full of toothaches and heartbreaks.