Category: Poetry

Hudson River

By Holly Guran

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the Hudson has a magnet smell      
            dark water     railroad track    
                        spongy grass
            rocks scattered     wrappers tossed

the Hudson has a railroad depot
            abandoned    revived
                        a party  for
            a cousin turning eighty

the freight trains go by
            a long chain clanging
                        guests turn    not hearing
            each other   the roar subsides

stranger beside me
            remembers  Johnny Mathis
                        and I do yes     Chances Are
            didn’t sex send sparks

we compare     he saw Miles at a dive
            I saw Ahmad Jamal    come what may
                        his Poinsiana   I’ll learn
            to love forever   

he loves certain lyrics
            a guide on how to live
                        four years
            since his wife died

he leaves     keeps returning
            his pressing need 
                        for the forgotten prelude
            to Hello Young Lovers

and then he has it
            when the earth smelled of summer
                        and the river
            and the sky was streaked with white

we sing            beyond us
            the huge barge of trash
                        pushed by a small tugboat
            navigates the Hudson

– Holly Guran

Author’s Note: The Hudson River that flowed below my childhood home, the high school I attended, and my close relatives’ town is always a force in my work.…

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Alone Together

By Jason M. Thornberry

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You hand out names to the hummingbirds that squabble
a few feet away—on the patio, perching
and racing past like fighter pilots, divebombing
the red plastic feeder that drips
and sways on a
hook.

We eat breakfast and we watch as sparrows
greedily vacuum the food you pour into
a shallow dish each morning. And when they catch us
peeking at them, they scatter, splashing
seeds—sunflower, safflower, millet, milo, flax,
cracked corn.

I’m off to my next meeting, you say.

We work a dozen feet apart nowadays. And
you haul it all—laptop and mouse, notepad, and books—
to the bedroom. I follow you with a chair to
the place where you attend these meetings
(and job interviews).
Where we plot our escape every night.
Alone together.…

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The Choice

By Hari B Parisi

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                        I very much dislike being at a buffet
                                                                        – Mary Ruefle

I stand in the stairwell say to him that he
and I aren’t going to work out, him being
a cowboy, aspiring cop. He marries a librarian.
I go on to psychedelics, sit-ins, join a cult,

marry and move to a place he would’ve hated.
My mother tells me, twenty years in, she’s
heard he still has my picture on his mantle.
You never lose the first he-was-everything-to-me.

I’ve googled him over the years, imagined
how a call might go, nearly did one summer.

From the poem “How We Met” from Dunce

– Hari B Parisi

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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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