How Silent
By Kenneth Pobo
Posted on
a hummingbird
sips from
our feeder before
flying away
returning
fifteen minutes
later an impatient
diner
she glides
tilts
finds a red
lobelia and
goes there
silently
Air Quality Alert
By Kenneth Pobo
Posted on
Landscapers remove
weedy bushes
in smoke
from distant fires.
A dead-looking sky
inert in a cloud coffin.
Saws blare. Branches
heap up.
The crew leaves us
with more light
that I stand in,
briefly, before
returning to
our closed-up house.
Moving Day
By Rebecca Ferlotti
Posted on
Home reeks of lime
and mildew. We hoist
a box spring through the second-
floor window—
dirt beneath creme brulee nails,
tip-toeing around next door’s
double panes, the clatter
of a dead woman’s rose-colored
dresser drawers echoes
in the afternoon.
Note: This piece was originally published in Mock Orange Magazine (2013, now defunct)…
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elegy in america’s graveyard
By Ron Torrence
Posted on
my country tis of thee—
invade women’s bodies
deport non-white people
beat up leftist voices
my country tis of thee—
no food for the poor
no meds for the poor
no homes for the poor
my country tis of thee—
cut down the trees
poison the water
pollute the air
my country tis of thee—
sweet land
of tyranny
for thee i grieve
Solstice
By Rebecca Ferlotti
Posted on
I drip paint on the neighbor’s lilies
from the balcony above,
pluck leaves from branches
parked next to my house.
I throw them off
as peace offerings. The flowers cry—
milky,
stained.
At night,
I push a glass of water
off the ledge. It shatters
over daisies. Their lights
flicker. The dog
barks. They say, “It must’ve been
a chipmunk.”
Note: This piece was originally published in Wingless Dreamer (2021)…
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Snow Flowers
By Kenneth Pobo
Posted on
Max Ernst, oil on canvas
February,
snowdrops
by the side
of the house.
Petal light
chases winter
away. Blossoms
last a couple
of weeks or so,
pack pleasure
into brevity. Soon
crocuses will purple,
pink, and yellow
early March, blooms
we welcome, doomed
to wither.
Mingle
By Rebecca Ferlotti
Posted on
—for antwerp
where cobblestones crunch toes
and elevators plateau:
basement resale lamp shop,
mudslide bikes, traveling
piano…
window display decorator
fumbles hulk-green
zippo.
bags of bottles chime
as we cross underwater
to the wooden robot.
we’re already mixing tequila and vodka. tonight
we’re hoping for the best.
Note: This piece was originally published in the now-defunct The Carroll Review in 2015.…
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