Cheryl Clark Vermeulen The Suckling Leading Lady Let’s say Homer is a woman (Shakespeare for that matter) and an eye is burned through on a figurehead swollen with water. Splitting across an arm or a leg, desire has fallen…
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Megan Leonard POEM WRITTEN WHILE I WAIT IN THE COLD ROOM AFTER THE NURSES HAVE GONE OUT BUT BEFORE THE DOCTOR COMES IN Megan Leonard’s poetry can be found most recently in Sharkpack Annual, Transom, and Reservoir. Her digital…
Rebecca Hart Olander Dysmorphia I’ve been a Super-8 movie camera in a pond trying to film my confidence, a wife, and a conversation full of silences. My job was to make things up. I have proof. Home: butter, salt, mirrors,…
Jules Jacob Broken Sonnet for Relapsing Daughters this song was yours clean without loss or metaphors yet comfort’s counterpart is pain is what I can’t spare us, is what quits speaking and walking, sinking to the carpet…
Marjorie Maddox Regret I was so tired of stepping in it until it rose to my ankles, my calves, clinging to my shins like tar as I tugged my unshaven limbs this way and that, so, so tired of…
Poetry by Keisha-Gaye Anderson from Everything is Necessary Everything is Necessary every thing is necessary, required to be is just is how you see is up to you are you pink and green caladium, a field of hearts in bloom,…
Laura Foley Camden, Maine The winter loons find harbor here, as do I, my child’s child walking slowly with me down the street, her tiny hand like an anchor in mine. She bids hello to water, to sunlight on…
Experiencing Mythology in Our Lives An MER VOX Folio Curated by Jennifer Martelli and Cindy Veach In her poem, “Sealskin, to her selkie,” KT Herr writes: . . . . And who will teach us to remember how to…
Martha McCollough On Mother’s Blue Hat High out of reach / netted lacquer cherries tremble and shine / inviting the bees, her perfect children / not us so waspish and barking / busy with accident — thinking the pearls…
Sarah Sousa Hex Mother conceives the sun in the dark hours before morning, grows large, and births the sun at dawn. The promise of the sun, at least, she keeps. The sun is steadfast, we say, crediting it not Mother,…