| LATE LEARNING
by Bill Freedman I have rescued a canary by adoption, who worked many years in the coal mines. Like a greyhound who has lost too many races, she was tagged for termination if not adopted. I find her useful. Responding to vibrations, she trills full volume, frantically, when the postman approaches the box outside. Sometimes I am on the porch when he is only on the walk, shaking his head and smiling, wondering how I knew. A little late for a few dozen miners, but she's got the hang of it now. |
PHOTOGRAPH by Allyson Seconds |
|
BAREFOOT
by Ann Privateer through uncut grass naked toes comb strands squish mud oozing over each digit bare speech steps up to circle above our heads footing infinity feet finally rest pointing to nude. |
| JAMES AND YORK
by Andrew Aulino Marsh, forest, city; the land between these two coasts are germinate with bone—the doe, the fox. Under all Tidewater oak beams and wool erupt in muddy fecundity to bear generations of reed, bloody green on the surface. We peninsular are kin to all this growth skeins of the sensual we love cold slaps of river-wind; how our hair in summer turns lank as heated copper; swamp nitre nettles the septum; mud; elvers turn in a placental shallow, birth with afterbirth. Separate boughs mat together, a crowd living on three hundred years' gathering-place; we are each a yes, and all yes. |
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