I could live in the descending chords of a seventies serenade, / the spacious tawny bars breaking the light into golden bricks. / I would have been at the guitar all day while / you went to your class and gathered flowers in a / clutch of muslin on your way home…
Posts tagged Winter 2016
Haibun: Bashō’s Last Journey by Stephen Cloud
Late autumn, a day of mist and rain keeping me indoors. I think of Bashō at the outset of his final journey: taking up the walking stick, crossing the threshold. All day long I have sat by the window watching rain, reading The Narrow Road, strumming the guitar. Outside, dead leaves have piled up, vines have lost their bloom. In a nearby field, cranes pick through harvest remains without concern for the downpour…
Life Science by Rage Hezekiah
I plucked an owl pellet from the ground / cradling it, delicate, as if a palm-sized bird / and not the mass of bones and fur purged / from a second stomach. In science class / as a girl, I learned these dark forms teemed / with the remnants of undigested pieces…
Definitions of a Marriage by Judy T. Oldfield
Mon Chou – (Fr.) ca. 1997 1. A phrase of French origin that literally translates as “my cabbage.” 2. A French term of endearment. 3. A phrase I learned in French class freshman year of high school and began calling you, which you did not like (see definition 1)…
Weiss Haar by Tessa Livingstone
Hollow, like a tunnel-boned bird, / the cello is held securely by its neck / while one hand twists the tuning peg, / evoking a shrill, sharp sound. / From the farmhouse / an ill-fated rooster calls out…