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SHE FOUND IT IN A PHOTO
by Beth Suter the log cabin, like a child's drawing of a wish a long-gone elm leans toward its loss it shelters a pelican blown up from the Gulf transported by a force too big to comprehend she's still there looking back at herself |
LOOKING BACK by Brent Wiggans |
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SOUL SNAP
by P.M.F. Johnson The soul when pressed can snap open much like a suitcase lock, fingers bruised in flight or on a cruise. Often we find it best to deny what's unseen. Turn in. Claim a rest. Who really needs to understand? The dismissive smile. The shrug of mean. |
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LOCKS OFF
by John Zedolik The hasps of March have swung, knocking the rust of winter to shake down in silent flecks, bit mirrors to the struggling sunshine, small patens yielding gold and diamond if we are lucky but light regardless of the sky's disposition so as good as that precious metal in this bending time of wind and chill yet hope that flies in with the rush, leaving us helpless to resist even if we wanted, by some perverse pull to back out and turn back as if the rust still clung silent and inert, leaving the air to its own flat design. |
POR TODOS LAS MANOS by Ruben Briseno Reveles |
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