Issue 4
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A. Yeatts-Lonske, Evening
Ariana Yeatts-Lonske Evening at the World Bird Sanctuary The room is an egg.We are inside the egg, and the barred owlcan hear our heartbeats.The barred owl can hear the whisperof mice feet under snow.The barred owl is here because the first face he saw was beakless. Irreversible illegal imprint—He wants to mate with all of…
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A. Stenzel, Could you
Annie Stenzel Could you watch something die and let it? With a mayfly, you must. An adult mayfly’s life is one long day, and then curtains. First, Ephemera vulgata, your two years or so as larvae, occupying crevices on a rocky bottom. Then, underwater, creepingover the river bed as newly-hatched little nymphs, you cleanse your…
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D. Allen., Bliss
Dee Allen. Bliss Stuffed burrito, freed from foil, wrapped repastIn a spinach tortilla, enjoyed on a blanket on the grass.Guacamolé, rice, salsa & black bean goodness, savoured with a friend.Hers, wrapped in wheat. Bottled orange juice, red grapes for meal’s end.Picnic for two, in awe of in-progess biology.Twittering birds, insects fly, sunshine in the lap…
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M. Talley, Sunflowers
Mary Ellen Talley Sunflowers Dinnerplate discsrise, bend,and kiss driveway concrete.I rescue a handfulwhile still-fresh yellowpetals spread.Now faces bright as a birthdayemerge from a tall vasein the room where you slept.I discard withered facesand dump tall stalksin the yard waste bin,tie the last tall blooms to a fence postas the seasons face change. Mary Ellen Talley’s…
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L. Johnson, Blackberry Days
Leo Johnson Blackberry Days “These taste better wild,” I said. She looked up from the phone in her hand long enough to see the clamshell container of blackberries I held. “Oh, yeah? That’s great…” she trailed off.I kept on. “Where I grew up, you could go out into the woods and find blackberries growing wild…
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M. Kirby, The Wild Makes
Merie Kirby design by Vitoria Faccin-Herman The wild makes no profit Merie Kirby grew up in California and now lives in North Dakota. She teaches at the University of North Dakota. She is the author of two chapbooks, The Dog Runs On and The Thumbelina Poems. Her poems have been published in Mom Egg Review,…
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J. Ziegler, The Ant Path
Jenna Ziegler The Ant Path We’d watch the ant path,my brother and I,noses to the stone.He liked to help them,dropping offerings along their trail—leaves, sap, crumbs from his own lunch.He’d pluck aphids from the rosebushes(our mother thanked him for caring for the flowers)and place them before the ants—watched the feast.My brother smiled with dimples,proud to…
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P. Hostovsky, Romantic
Paul Hostovsky Romantic I’m thinking of moving to Keats Street in Winthrop because I love the idea more than the thing.I don’t love Winthrop, which is too close to the airport, and I don’t love moving, which is stressful and derailing. I love Keats, though, and I could take the trainto work from Revere. I…
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S. Vinson, Morning Glory
Susan Vinson Morning Glory Two clocks on the wall, dripping faucets,alternately fill in all the empty spaces;pulsing hands push the slivered moonthrough the crisping airwhile pulling purple larkspur from the powdery earthand weaving ribbons of birdsong into the warmscent of the sun rising throughsips of steaming coffee.Abby Lynne laughs in Abilenewhile my thoughts can’t hear…
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E. Shack, Aubade
Elizabeth Shack Aubade Walk up the worn stone stepsbetween pecan and redbud.Among ferns, dance.Bend back, face to sky.Greet the new sun.In fog or cloudy aftermath of storm,on grass littered with leaves,give thanks for the newworld of stone, rain,greenlight. Elizabeth Shack lives in central Illinois with her spouse, cat, and an expanding collection of art supplies…