c o n v e r g e n c e:
an online journal of poetry & art


FALL 2014 ISSUE


CAPITALISM
by JD DeHart

I dreamed I sold you last night
It was to the highest bidder
Like a carnival barker
I sang your moments
Of highest praise
When I woke, I was glad
To find your sweetness
Still with me.






NIGELLA PODS by Allyson Seconds

NIGELLA PODS by Allyson Seconds



CHANGE DOES IT
by Varsha Saraiya-Shah

A long fat potato, sweet and meant
to be eaten, stays idle
for weeks in my fruit bowl.
It grows pig tails and ivory beard
over threads of mustache.
My friend says, it needs change.
I pluck all idle limbs fattened
on its sweetness, put them in a glass
with water on window-sill to befriend the sun.
Weeks pass, they continue sprouting
new leaves winding their way around
the mini-blind; my new friends
sing and keep company as I do dishes
drinking the sun-splashed water.
We know what change does, how change rubs on
those who think they're alone or scraping by
or can't make sense of what seems ugly–
it grows new seeds of sweetness,
an assurance.






HUE RIVER, VIETNAM by Baxter Jackson

HUE RIVER, VIETNAM by Baxter Jackson



PRESENTATION
by Lisa J. Cihlar

I have a small red rowboat and today I will paddle us to the heart of the big lake and we will discover an island that only you and I will know about. We will disembark there. I will feed you sturgeon and sweet potatoes and I will bestow you fishhooks and copper beads to wear around your neck and you will braid turquoise baubles in my hair. Because I know your favorite bird is the toucan, I will have a flock of them natter to us from the oak and birch trees growing on the shore. When it snows they will transform into crows that will squawk the short daylight hours through. When you weary of that, I will wave a cedar branch in the shimmering hoarfrost filled air and they will become black ash flung skyward from the fire that I will start with flint and steel I have carried in my pocket forever.





THE RAISINS
by JD DeHart

All women are beautiful
No matter their age
The boy informed his uncle
He was 16 and at the beach
Uncle smiled as, at that moment
Two old women with deep wrinkles
Walked by, looking to plant
Their absurdly large umbrella.












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