Maria Mazziotti Gillan When I Was Still Young I remember getting up at 3 or 4 in the morning, going down to my kitchen and looking out the window at my neighbor’s house or at the moon or at…
Browsing: Poetry
Mary Fontana Meditation Culminating in a Line From My Son’s Comic Book I suppose I was afraid he wouldn’t read. Wouldn’t be a reader. That we would be strange to each other. When he slept through the night I…
Callie Plaxco Aphasia There are whole days that pass without a single thought taking shape into intelligible words. The wind screams and I think perhaps it is a child waking. But the leaves shake and always there are noises…
Dayna Patterson Gertrude on arte materna Published in MER 21 Note: The poem is published as an image to preserve formatting. Dayna Patterson is a Thea-curious recovering Mormon, fungophile, macrophotography enthusiast, and textile artist.…
Doralee Brooks Hips —After Lucille Clifton/Patricia Smith My hips hold me on weak knees and unsteady ankles as I pull spiky weeds like needles from the side of the house wearing Michael’s leather work gloves. He tells me to…
Glenis Redmond Setting the Table Mama hands me fork, spoon and knife as she circles the table I follow her lead. Learn what comes around goes around. She demonstrates how to fold the napkins and where the drinking glasses…
Dorsía Smith Silva My daughter is the wolf of me moonhowls my four-legged desires into rivers of lupine flower & alpha star hunts down fears nesting in hunter sniffs lumps of green to thirst caribou bloats on stars’ colostrum like extra moonlight marvel at her wilderness unwhittled which mirrors my own…
Dianne Silvestri For My Son About to Become a Father One birthday before you stood taller than I, I gave you a telescope, fawn legs hinged, black nose and an eye, assembly instructions folded in the box. Twice we…
Gianna Russo Locket & Altar The moon is waxing or waning— whatever. It’s been seven years, the bare kitchen table set to remember. She’s in the dog star, ++++++she’s with the great bear. Some nights she’s waiting behind a…
Carla Panciera Incantations I liked the name Rose for a daughter. Rose quartz, in the hands of the right carver might yield a six-rayed star from an inclusion. I was pregnant and had begun to read things like tombstones…