The last day he was upright, I helped my sister
heave his weight. He didn’t make it to the toilet—
hadn’t in weeks—but he insisted. The horrid,
empty smell was wholly new, and broke me.
He’d eaten nothing for days, what was there left
to void? I gagged as it seeped down his bird leg,
then left my sister to the mess. He was still alert
enough to know that I had turned my back,
and he was hurt, though hurting worse in other ways,
he never mentioned it, taking to bed, for good,
shortly after, leaving me to regret what everyone
regrets after death: the way things were when
there was still any chance of fixing things;
the fact that no one tried.
– Katherine Fallon… ...continue reading
Morning; Yellow Tree
From death, from darkness
A new life emerges
Sparks and flares teeming with energy
Reside upon the amber obelisk
Temporal guardian of the landscape
Arise as do the sun
Noon; Orange Tree
Hearts of the earth, bloomed anew
Endure the iron fist of the meridian
Yet you, burnt orange maple
Remain position
Sentinel with a thousand arms
Overseeing creation, benevolent shade
Evening; Red Tree
Bask within the sol of life
Tree within earth’s garden
Lit aflame, yet ever standing
Flares of spirit empower
A maroon body of nature
As the sun sets, I await a new sunrise
– Luke Park… ...continue reading
You’ve told me more about Saturday nights
than I want to know. Fridays were big at
our house: paycheck, bar, pan to the crown when
he came home swinging. The morning after
was like church a day early: guilt. Always
a headache in cast iron, no buses
but two cars in the driveway, a stack of
bills paid for during the week. By the fifth
day, he wanted to be a child again,
swagger like a teen inside a middle
aged paunch, expectations for life thwarted
by time and poor decisions, a father,
lost and overboard in a leaky
life boat, briefly sharing provisions while
eyeing the life preservers and the oars.
– Sandra Kolankiewicz… ...continue reading
Sitting still, waiting to descend
just a layer of fogged glass
keeping me from you.
Trees growing on your cheeks,
chin in your palm.
You’re frightened, I know.
Yet the sun splays on the dashboard and
you see the moose, as I do, swimming
in the pond—black berries along its shore.
Soon, the plane kisses the ground.
Something has left you.
– Preston Eagan… ...continue reading
I remember which way to go if I can face north
& close my eyes: at home, the Tillmans’ house
was north & stood in for the small dipper, somewhere
below the treeline. East was the city, too small
to light the sky orange or at all, the searchlights
from the airport probing nervously a clouded night,
saying please come home, so good to see you. West
was the back yard, over which my father launched
crude bottle rockets on summer nights, the best ones
making it to the cornfield past the property-line,
& we imagined them arcing over the barn, too,
burying their spent heads in the woods beyond.… ...continue reading
Tomorrow, when the Vulcan god of fire,
Rejects their offerings, she will burn with the rest of the city.
Tomorrow, when the wrath of gods pour into landfills and
The river boils, she will not get far on foot.
Tomorrow,
when the walls are breaking and
the air is sour with naked fear,
she will be one of a thousand deaths, slaughtered
under the mass of ash and pumice.
But today, she is alive and with her mother in the markets,
Clutching a stout baby. The sun is shining and they are shopping for the evening meal.
Pausing at the flower stand between the vendors of fishhooks
And cloth, the flower she lifts to her nose smelled sweeter than usual.
– Sarah Huang… ...continue reading
There are geese in the road
a monogamous pair protecting
five goslings from the onslaught
of morning traffic
like many families
they knit together in times of change
times of great movement
unbearable crisis
here they cross
Silicon Beach tenderly
bookending their nestlings
from the Metro we
know human urgency waits
for no one
least of all these. … ...continue reading