Nothing Wants to Suffer by Danusha Laméris after Linda Hogan Nothing wants to suffer. Not the wind as it scrapes itself against the cliff. Not the cliff being eaten, slowly, by the sea. The earth does not want to suffer the rough tread of those who do not notice it. The trees do not want to suffer the axe, nor see their sisters felled by root rot, mildew, rust. The coyote in its den. The puma stalking its prey. These, too, want ease and a tender animal in the mouth to tak

Disturbing the Seasons by Ann Shaffer My mother isn't dead yet, and sometimes I think of her that way-- my mother, who has yet to die. She calls from where she lives, says she's fine, and I believe her. My voice travels a long way back to her, out of this city, west through a dozen counties, across the river. I think of how ordinary her death will be. My grief, as common as dirt. When we say good-bye, I go back to the garden and get down on my knees. I should gather amulets

Mother, Washing Dishes by Susan Meyers She rarely made us do it— we’d clear the table instead—so my sister and I teased that some day we’d train our children right and not end up like her, after every meal stuck with red knuckles, a bleached rag to wipe and wring. The one chore she spared us: gummy plates in water greasy and swirling with sloughed peas, globs of egg and gravy. Or did she guard her place at the window? Not wanting to give up

The Problem with Early Warnings by Charles Rafferty People don’t like to leave a party unless the house is actually on fire. Even then, if the flames are far enough away to be pretty, they’ll finish their drink, take one more pass at the hors d’oeuvres. How things happen has always been unclear. Hurricanes begin in a place where no one lives. Agents of the government start to wear masks. Fascism is a word my neighbors won’t use yet. They are following the law, they say, and

After the Removal of 30 Types of Plants and Animals from the Junior Dictionary by Rose Mclarney Acorn no more. Blackberry blanked out. Cheetah cast off. But if no acorn, because the young will use language for nature less, by that logic, no arousal, brief surge of blood that cannot continue but lets lives be conceived. If no bluebell because flowers are fleeting, no beauty to begin with for these bodies which wither. If no cygnet, the downy being preceding permanent feathers

In the Library by Charles Simic There’s a book called A Dictionary of Angels. No one had opened it in fifty years, I know, because when I did, The covers creaked, the pages Crumbled. There I discovered The angels were once as plentiful As species of flies. The sky at dusk Used to be thick with them. You had to wave both arms Just to keep them away. Now the sun is shining Through the tall windows. The library is a quiet place. Angels and gods huddled In dark unopened books. T

After the Explosion by Laurel Blossom All the water mains burst Forth, singing The rats ran Everywhere, squealing in Rhyme, and the cockroaches Tweeted to their neighbors while Heaven turned itself into Hell on Earth. From where the sky had been Each star bored into the ground like an X-ray so that the Ploughed fields were pockmarked with Lozenges of lead, none could smell the Ozone that sparked from electrical Systems gone haywire, while In the meantime, the purple pot stoo

That the Science of Cartography Is Limited by Eavan Boland --and not simply by the fact that this shading of forest cannot show the fragrance of balsam, the gloom of cypresses, is what I wish to prove. When you and I were first in love we drove to the borders of Connacht and entered a wood there. Look down you said: this was once a famine road. I looked down at ivy and the scutch grass rough-cast stone had disappeared into as you told me in the second winter of their ordeal,

God of Neighbors, and Sex by Esther Cohen DEAR GOD Of neighbors Who fall in love with one another There’s something sexy In a high school way About neighbors. Maybe That’s why I’ve heard This story l,000 times. Martha told it today. When we were all In the post office. Famous artist man With a wife and five sons Every single son A drummer Not even one Bass guitarist He fell in love With his directly across the street Neighbor Married choreographer Two children of her own The