A Dirge Melody: Don’t Let the Humans Know We Contain Souls by Elizabeth Upshur published in Mistake House (2017) If you want the pearl...

Shirt by Robert Pinsky (published in his book, The Want Bone) The back, the yoke, the yardage. Lapped seams, The nearly invisible...

My Children Asleep on the Chest of September by Ariana D. Den Bleyker (published in The Mantle, Issue 6, November 2018) It’s an alluring...

Dearborn North Apartments Chicago, Illinois by Lola Haskins Rows of rectangles rise, set into brick. And in every rectangle, there is a lamp. Why should there be a lamp in every window? Because in all this wide city, there is not enough light. Because the young in the world are crazy for light and the old are afraid it will leave them. Because whoever you are, if you come home late but it looks like noon, you won’t tense at the click when you walk in which is probably afte

In Praise of Gray by Jay Rubin (published in The Summerset Review , Summer 2011 ) Gray hair is a crown of splendor —Proverbs 16:31 O how I wish that my wife, just once would not slip through that bathroom door to dye her hair that ungodly brown O how I wish that my wife, just once would let her fallacious hair rinse clear allowing her argent age to shine If only she would, I'd gather each strand some threads white as winter rain others dark as clear champagne O how I'd rej

Forgive My Dearth of Quietude by Praise Osawaru (published in Feral , Issue 3, August 2020) Instead of dreaming, I translate my whirling worries into a standstill; eyes closed, body tendering silence. The night registers my intermittent awakening, on days when my mind depletes quietude. Creaking fan, wintry chill, spilling moonlight; they conduct a fellowship in my room. Pardon me if I mistake the scratching in my wall for the feasting of monsters, or the meowing at ni

Purgatory by Carolyn Martin (published in The Opiate , August 2016) can’t be much worse than this: sitting in the second row while the poet– featured tonight for reasons only the emcee knows–fumbles through a notebook for the next offering he’ll serve up in a voice that hovers somewhere between pseudo-humility and arrogance as he alludes to obscure Italian history and no one has a clue so I’m free to tune out everything but my mind conversing with itself about a metaphor t

On Virtue by Phillis Wheatley O thou bright jewel in my aim I strive To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach. I cease to wonder, and no more attempt Thine height t’explore, or fathom thy profound. But, O my soul, sink not into despair, Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head. Fain would the heaven-born soul with her converse, Then seek, then court her for her promised bliss. Auspicio