By: Susan Mayer Brumel Goose and Fish Sometimes, I succumbto suffocating sadnessthat force-feedsmy heartmy soulmy madness The goose. Salmon river-racethrough my veins –the pressure pains And I am that forsaken fish:stuffed withvulnerability and fearsingled out—and eaten by a bear. The…
By Taylor Dibbert He’s justThrown awayLondon’s pinkDoggy bed,His wee LondonPassed awayA little moreThan aYear ago,He’s not ableTo putWhat he’s feelingInto words. ### Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. “Rescue Dog,” his fourth full-length poetry collection,…
By: Stanka Bajlozova-Barlamova She often saw the deformed open mouths of her patients in her dreams. The most distorted faces, she remembered of patients whose medical instructions were a diagnosis: extraction. Of all possible dental activities and interventions, tooth…
By: Simon Heathcote ‘You have traveled too fast over false ground;Now your soul has come to take you back.’ –John O’Donohue There is a great nest of sorrows in each of us, yet tragically, it’s long abandoned and closed down….
By: Paul Dickey Almost Infidelity Josie and I want to walk to the lake.Maybe a little fishing in the moonlight.Josie is Don’s new wife. Don says doesn’t want to go.This is in spite of the fact that he and Betty,…
By: Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal Is It Even Real After Sylvia Plath Art dies on the pagelike everything else.I do not know magic.I am not exceptional.It seems we are alldestined for hell orheaven. Is it evenreal, hell, heaven?Where we end up,is…
By: C. J. Anderson-Wu The first time I encountered my daughter was when she was excavating the earth burying me. My daughter was born after my death sixty years ago, which means she was sixty years old, almost double my…
By: Ramlal Agarwal The recognition and discussion of Indo-English novels starts with Raja Rao (1908–2006), Mulk Raj Anand (1905–2004), and R.K. Narayan (1906–2000). William Walsh, the famous English critic, called them the Big Three of Indo-English literature. They burst onto…
By: John Grey TUNDRA It’s almost midnightand the June sun is still not done shining.The day stretches widerthan it’s ever been.Night won’t come nearthe scrub alders of the tundraor the short grassthat’s been mowed by passing seasons.Landscape bathes in this…
By: Elaine Lennon The radio crackled into life. It shocked the desert air out of its silence. There was another man on the moon. Gene Cernan was exploring the Taurus-Littrow Valley on the lunar surface and his words echoed crystal…