June 24, 2019
Between the hills of this city
the wind gathers like a symphony
low brass in the cracks
of brownstones trill
along window sills the soft
snare roll of loose leaves
street side a tree
a limb piano-finger thin
dips toward the pavement
asking for th...
June 21, 2019
morning arrived unannounced
before the winedrops could dry
from blue pillows
little shivers in finger sockets
birds sing just once
can’t we watch
those old waves
try & come closer...
June 20, 2019
this possible october
when the whole
like her cavernous
irises as she tells me
all heaven can be
is she right?
not on the existence
of afterlife but pe...
June 17, 2019
because i’m lonely.
because my best friend got one and it seemed to work for her.
because there are only so many Jewish men in the world
and depending on where you live they aren’t always easy to spot,
and at some point i just realized i didn’t want any of the ones i’ve already caught sightings of.
because meeting organically when you have social anxiety is like
a goldfish deciding it wants to date when it lives in a fish bowl by it...
April 16, 2019
Anitha Devi Pillai
Breathing in the fresh scent
of milk and baby powder,
and tracing your smile with my finger
I raised you to my face
and kissed your forehead –
It was my first day as your mother.
I dragged my feet
clutching your backpack and water bottle
and your hand too for some time.
But you were in a rush
and eager to board the mini-van
as I knelt down to kiss your forehead –
It was your first day at school.
The school camp was the hardest.
Did you know...
April 15, 2019
N. L. H. Hattam
It was a beautiful night.
You are wonderful.
You are all perfect,
But even still –
Still, I wonder,
Walking on suspended stone,
Wonder if I might fit seamless
Into the ripple of the river.
Step off the edge, at the perfect angle,
Disappear into the still,
The even pulsing
Still beneath the current.
April 13, 2019
as in desperation, he recycles traumas that aren’t his own—
which is to say nothing came of the long months’ promenade
of honest source experience he couldn’t see,
the e-zines didn’t care
for film scripts passed as sonnets anyway,
or of insights bought w/ coffee shop visits;
it’s your fingers’ soot he seeks, oh the value
he finds in other people’s crawling, from his lawnchair
on his day off, taking the time
to yell at his dog
December 22, 2018
The way rays on our skin warm or change
or burn us. The way a widower feels
about his house, that he wouldn’t mind
to see it glow a little, wouldn’t mind
a female ghost in a daguerreotype
to set his life on a bike and send it
down a gravel road toward the forsythia
and all that scent. Except, danger
is of no interest anymore, nor anything
to do with a woman,
unless he prays to her. Wounds
will do this—take scent and throw
snow over it. Ex...
December 21, 2018
A cure? You prefer
hastily drafted feelings,
a glass of artificial progress
under the caricature
of an attractive artist
with tremors. You fake
thirst, pointing at solvents,
find your soul by clicking
marbles against the window.
Melancholy is our concern
if peers recognize burning
disturbances such as chants
yielding regret, committing
herbicide in cold sweat,
complaining at the graves
of women who gave their lives
over to haunting. Adjust
December 20, 2018
Walking down a path of gold,
wondering what to do,
seeking the warmth within the cold,
searching for a clue,
the road that's glinting in the sun,
is beautiful to the sight,
at the peek of the hill you start to run,
something doesn't look right,
you see a dullness that's new today,
the tarnished bronze is real,
for fools gold you've been pining away,
disappointment is what you now feel,
while the shining gold was always fake,