When you got out of the car to hug me,
I was the only person on earth,
and my troubles slipped like paint
drips (in a bedroom, somewhere in Ohio).
It’s fresh outside. The white buds of a bush
can’t keep their eyes open and there might be
cloud consequences in the after-
noon. For now, my nails are red and my face is
peeling from sunburn. You’re out
of your red car with your arms around me
still. And I can’t shake the feeling
something’s wrong and you’re not telling.
But I don’t ask. I just wait for you
to break the silence.
– Rebecca Ferlotti
Note: This piece was previously published in the Cuyahoga County Public Library Poetry Anthology (2015)…
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The garden cries out “Help! Please weed me now.”
A muggy day, but I do as I’m told.
Before starting I see a red dahlia, wow!
The garden cries out “Help! Please weed me now.”
I say “Chill, I’m ready. Trust my know-how.”
I pull and pull, stop to drink something cold.
The garden cries out “Help! Please weed me now.”
A muggy day, but I do as I’m told.
– Kenneth Pobo
…
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Sun patinas snow mounds,
causes boy’s dirt bike
to slither to skitter no helmet.
Salt-trucked boots clack pavement
to car,
looking for blankets or bandages,
but it’s just my ex’s cigarette whispers
and shrimp dumplings half-bagged,
frostish unfeeling,
taste of
whine
on my lips.
– Rebecca Ferlotti
Note: This piece was originally published by The Carroll Review in 2015.…
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Let me tell you
chiefs and chefs,
I don’t know,
haven’t the faintest idea,
how to accept all this honor;
how to show, without fraud
or display
my deep feeling,
my gross emotion,
and all in all
thanes, your gleaming
eyes bespeak an honor
not mine, but of all
those who died, pro patria;
gutted like perch,
their holy stink
ascends to Valhalla.
But on.
Let me say thanks;
my parts are here,
arms, legs, eyes;
the net has not been
cast over my
darling anatomy,
eagles, no thanks to you-
in the baldric my scars
start and end.…
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Blossom curls
on the couch
…………paws
over her head
…………head tilted right
back twisted left
…………tail dangling
……………………over
……………………the edge
not very ladylike
she’ll sleep like that
…………for hours
me?
jealous of her spine
– Rebecca Dietrich…
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Many of my concerns are municipal in nature.
The cars on Savin Hill
assume weird angles. The trees bend,
one by one, to the November wind
ripping through right on time. Trees
aren’t always prepared but I’ve learned
November is a hazard. Limbs detach
from trunks and the broken cores
leak Styrofoam on the road. Floods
of teenaged Cristo Rey students
flow from the subway station and
cross the street without looking,
exactly like I do. I jacket myself
just like everyone does these days–
one puffy sleeve at a time. Buttons
separate traffic signals and walk signs.
I ignore their pebbly symbols
just like everyone else. It’s too cold.
I’m tired of standing still.
– Abbie McCabe…
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the last beam
of evening glow
…………dancing
over blades of grass
windows rolling down
wind whooshing
through my hair
…………his hand
grasping my thigh
i tug my sweater
pretending i’m shy
then lightly
…………slap him away
we count deer
…………grazing
along the parkway
one
two
three
wondering
if they too
…………play
little games
– Rebecca Dietrich…
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