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by Linda Maria The last leaf of autumn clings, a trembling scarlet against November’s gray. Tomorrow, thewind will take it too—this final punctuation mark in the year’s slow exhalation. Petals forgettheir names first. The rose abandons its red, the violet its purple, until both become the sametranslucent brown. Even the sky, that relentless optimist, surrenders […]

by Susann Cokal When my mother died, my grandmother told me it was the saddest thing imaginable, a child dying before the parent. They had had a difficult relationship, but of course a mother must  grieve the loss of her daughter.    I took a spoonful of the ashes to Denmark, where Mormor lived and

by Yuan Changming  心房: heart house for a soul to dwell in心扉: heart door always ready to be opened心鼓: heart drum to be beaten rhythmically心匣: heart case where to store one’s feelings心镜: heart mirror to reflect one’s inner self心田: heart field in which to grow the seeds of hope心原: heart wildland for the will to

by Margaret Kathryn Warren she conjures a collage of living tattoos: beetles creeptoward knees. a toad smirks, looking at a can of soupshaped like a pack of cigarettes. a mushroompatch dances in purple above her elbow. Muse isn’t happywith the fox on her breast. though it winks, its feetwrinkle at the ankles. the fur smudges,but

by Michael Baldwin Grief entered my earlike fingernails clawingat the blackboard of my being Grief found your holein my souland set to chewing its edges Grief smelt of burntbeans boiled drywhen I returned from hospice Grief looked at mein the mirrorand saw you here beside me Grief came to mein a dream of youreaching unreachably

by John Dorroh Please understand that I know what I saw: metallic dragonflies dancing like tiny ballerinas on thepicnic table, the end closest to the wormwood that spills out of the container like witch hair,silvery and brittle, begging for moisture. Mardi gras colors, scales on wings stacked like shingleson a roof. Delicate yet aggressive, their

by Melanie Figg Backstory It was the housewhere divorcing beganin earnest. Houseof silence, houseof dissolve. Thepoisoned groundreeled. One girlcleaved, one doubled-down.It’s too easy to lookback and add inwhat we knownow: his affairs, hergirl-trauma. Meanwhile,they unpackedinto smaller andsmaller spaces.And the armynext doorkept a recordof the ruining,the toxic river,their breathtakingrecklessness, the yardwrecked with recklessdisregard. Despite,that girl got

by Mona Mehas obsession with the shape of treesdisturbed by easterly winds like blades of grass, I weave my wordsringlets open under the summer sky the sponge in my head is saturateddeep pores, peel the layers a gentle breeze, my breath in tandem to still me in my personal forest Indigo Buntings bluer than my

by Donna Faulkner I live     in a house     with dead people.I live upon dead people’s land.   Thinning carrots, I senseghosts     in the garden.   kneel     in sod, sift     throughdirt     heretofore toiled.   Buried deep     beneath pink Damask rosesA dead dog     barks     at the backdoor.  

by Alison Eastley After the summer of pollination, the noise of dying insectsis nothing but a thin tremor for a clique of circling wings,this strange ceremony of long-eared bats hanging upside down in the backblocks behind thin skinned paperbarks,   I remember saying melaleuca, melaleuca as if milk,honey and wine could incite dangerous sensationsaway from