Category: Poetry

Daylight Saving

By Kakie Pate

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The sunlight explores the walls
of the apartment we share
like a rabid cockroach.
I crack the body
with a firm stomp, one foot—
shoeless. Together, the dog
I call the love of my life,
and I hold a small service.

The dog has a few nice
things to say. I cry for the third
time today. The body lays
in a planter on the fire escape,
three inches down in the dirt,
where a month later grows
a peony, your favorite flower,
clearly in love with the light.

– Kakie Pate

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Raiment

By Claudia Putnam

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The air for months
            an apocalyptic blanket,

jaundiced shimmer from stones and dirt.

                   How does your

world end?                   A pandemic
for real next time,

wet bulb temps settling
along your latitude sooner than expected,

a decade          from now       or three?
Do you require

global holocaust, or is a burnt town, town
            by town
enough? How far away is Talent, Oregon

Paradise, California. How near

is here it is. We walk outside breathing
ash, breathing bone, sucking whatever
we can into lungs, thick greasy air

enshawling our shoulders,
robes we’ll be wearing till
the end.

– Claudia Putnam

Author’s Note: “Raiment” is part of a chapbook MS composed at Hypatia-in-the-Woods in 2021.…

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Wobbly Man

By Steve Nickman

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A round-bottomed toy that rights itself when
one attempts to push it over.
– Wikipedia

My dental hygienist
looks and sighs.
My son takes my car
to the car-wash.

Again I dream
I forgot my dog
in a locked garage.
Don’t you too

get swamped by
one guiltwave
after another,
don’t we struggle

to keep the
straight when
the car wants to veer,
don’t we ache…

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reward scheme

By Paul Tanner

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bitch, he says.
stupid bitch,
reaching over the counter for my colleague
whilst his girlfriend stands behind him
looking bored.
at least, I assume she’s bored
under those big sunglasses.

they get their refund in the end.
it’s the quickest way to get rid of them.
it’s the only way:
a company
can’t accuse an individual
of inappropriate behaviour.
that would be fascism.
apparently.
I think.

anyway,
no – my shaken teary colleague
CANNOT have a break:
can’t she see how long the queue is now?

– Paul Tanner

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August

By Hannah Warren

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Ever since I was a child, the grass irritated my ankles. To combat this, I would wear socks when walking in the grass, leaving green stains on white cotton. Here the world looked safe. The sun was hot, striking my skin until it was a dark red. Blueberries crushed against the pads of my fingers. Their juice became stickier as the heat began to rise. I wanted to feel the grass beneath my feet. So I dumped the bucket of berries on the ground and started jumping on them. The berries became little sticky fireworks. My feet sunk deep into the berries. Grass began to grow between my toes, tangling around my ankles. Eventually roots took hold of my toes, and the grass wound up my wrists.…

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The one-legged blackbird

By James Norcliffe

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With one leg not two, he’s a great little hopper.
He has to be. Our knowledge can only be finite says Popper,

a philosopher of whom this little black bopper
has possibly not heard, not even a whisper,

but Karl has a point, a legitimate view:
the bird can’t imagine hopping on two.

From the path to the compost, the rail to the bin,
he’s perfected the art of hopping on one

a hop left then right, like a one-legged trooper
adroitly avoiding coming a cropper,

backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards:
thirteen ways of hopping for a blackbird.

When fate deals you a bad hand or rather a bad leg or rather a non-existent leg it may seem improper
but as mentioned our knowledge can only be finite says Popper:

so when fate deals you an unfair cop,
what can you do but live in hop?…

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