May 2024


In this issue

Contents

Poetry

Picture

When four baby daughters up in the sky drain her anaemic heart, tears on Granddad’s photo against her riant chest, I crawl on her lap – My hug means to tell her, yes, she will see them again but please, not now.

Death Dance

There were car accidents, illness, and war. Dia de Los Muertos arrived just in time. I surrendered as the ants overwhelmed me. Beneath blue skies and papel picado.

True North (After Louise Glück)

Look for mentors and they’ll materialize, peer around corners, mouthing Psst with pursed lips,

Waiting

A girl perched on a Translucent ocean In a dusty rose tunic On rowboat the color Of old paper, like the sky, The foam on the water,

Cyclicity

Hovering over my body, in a tangled   mess of silver threads going snap, snap,   snap, I realise you were the fibre and tendon,   and glue that held while we ended   and began and ended and began;

agarita

but the berries do not know they grow because they grow and only know how to grow in the front circle in the backyard up and down the gravel road all along the fence line

Lemons

Yet there the seed waits all the while and dreams of its own life — my only way of reaching it is with my paring knife.

don’t try so hard

I stood over him as he sat at the table setting the book down automatically in front of him he looked up and almost made eye contact asking, “Who do I make it out to?”