|
THE SUMMER NIGHT
by James Lee Jobe The back porch was screened in and dark, and all night we made love there. This was long ago in our youth, a hot night, a bright moon and a dull street lamp, a porch swing, an old sofa covered with a white sheet. Naked, your skin shining with sweat, you seemed to glow above me. There was loud music on inside the house. You picked up the beat, pushing me down on the sofa. June Bugs on the street lamp made odd little noises, then I, too, became a June Bug. I became a summer night. |
MY HEART IS A LEAF by Allyson Seconds |
|
CATHY KOCHANSKI: CALAVERAS BIG TREES PARK by James Lee Jobe The Redwood tree was 1000 years old and I opened my sleeping bag for a nap. There were actual openings in the side of the tree the size of small rooms. No one else was around. Inside the tree I dreamed of a day we never shared. We climbed rocks along a swift mountain river. It was a hot summer day, and we stripped naked and jumped in. We drank wine and you kissed me. "Why did you have to die?" I asked you that, finally, after thirty years of mourning you. "Everything hurt." That's all you would say about it. You knew I loved you, so I didn't say it this one time. Then you smiled and asked me if I wanted to swim again. And I did. I really did. |
FOR THE BIRDS by Allyson Seconds |
|
#2
by Stephanie Anne Williams Her quiet heart speaks the ebony, the draught That drains her perk, spoken cold and drowned Spit lines, vapor burr and bramble slew— Spotted croak for memory lines, dipped ink Curled in blood— wrapped kink in feral eyes Drawn to the flap, the edge of cloud, dancing Wild in soft-spun plagues, chipped gnomes of Black-and-white, fraught moods with deviled Pink— with spite at the murmur, trim blend at Meddled blight Soaked in torn fur, she cries wolf to ripples Of Him— beckons, "Jesus, Jesus," at lover's whim, Groaning palely to dimpled grime, knife her Heart with greased come, to dwell in virtues, In gorged realms But shame weaves in and out, speckles her Sodden split with dreamlike trends, swelling Broadly, tidally, conferring prayer with death— And as she mends, she lights, she stains her Stuff with lull, to sing the ash and let her grow |
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
home | Table of Contents | archive