Category: Poetry

This Will Be the Day that I Die

By Kara Cochran

Posted on

1.

Blurry I blink open
to Madonna in 
tacky tiara
and low-riding jeans, time-stop
dancing in a blue-red sepia swirl
before the stars and stripes
skinny arms sprawling bare
exposed hips swirling
bye bye Miss American Pie.

I don’t realize it’s the TV
until the doctor rolls in,
feel needles stiff under
skin
sticky circles sucked to my chest
reading faint signs of life.


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Young Love

By Natalie Crick

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When you were five
And I was six,
We would hold hands
Just like this.

When you were nine
And I was ten,
We made a pact
To never tell, and then:

You began to tell me every word
That escaped from your lips, with cold secret stares.
A look or a glance through long
Fingertips. Your beautiful face.



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Humpty Dumpty

By Rebekah Keaton

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This morning she saw you tumble down
the stone wall. She scrambles to inspect
for scraped knees, soft blood. You are
perfect, unmarred.  No scar to tell.
She scoops you back up.  You straddle
the bridge rails.  Toss pebbles
that ripple across her taut skin.
A picnic of fried chicken and cool
sweet tea, how easy to forget the sun
can slow burn, reflect off the heavy marsh,
and make murky the foretelling:
how fragile this bassinet of bone and blood.

Rebekah Keaton

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Running Away from Home

By Milton Ehrlich

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At the peak of my
pubescence,
I almost kill my father
who lost his soul
in the Siberian Gulag.
I plunge a fork into
his vodka-soaked thigh
and run away from home.
I get lost in the woods
and can’t find my way back,
roaming around in circles
on the edge of panic
in my clownish shoes.
I remember the rule of three
from my Eagle Scout training:
I’ll die in three hours in the cold,
three days without water,
and three weeks without food.
At night, I can see the Big Dipper
and follow the stars in the bowl
to the North Star, sure of direction
when I find moss on the north side
of a tree.
I slog through marshes,
searching for a rivulet,
running past clusters of chanterelles
I’d gathered in the past,
when I discover the brackish water
of an estuary that lead to the open sea.
I swim out to a mooring,
help myself to a sailboat,
and sail away.

– Milton Ehrlich

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Fogscape

By Ace Boggess

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I will not be seen today &
how does it worry me?

out there a city swells
from river to weeds

like a silvery fish
taking first hesitant steps on land

unnoticed like most history
I hear it serenade with castanets

invisible like me
parts of the same dissolute fluid

we have passed the test
of loneliness

even our scars blank in the opaque
our voices mute

in the gasp of a morning
fat like sorrow

but more like guilt
in how it stays too long

– Ace Boggess

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