The Voyage Out: A Poem by Marian O’Brien Paul
“The Voyage Out: A Poem*” (a forced collaboration) by Marian O’Brien Paul I. The river Sometimes the river is an opulent purple or mud-colored or a sparkling blue like the sea A straw floats past, caught in an iridescent circle swims in the well of a tear Words strike her ear like the drop of a straw or a stick stroke or the impact on river water of a solitary tear With eyes as unreflecting as water...
Swash Zone by Nancy Carol Moody
“Swash Zone” by Nancy Carol Moody Breathing is primary; speech, secondary. Absent breath, speech does not occur. If the woman cannot breathe, she cannot scream. seafoam breaking on the shoreline a young girl, giggling The drowning woman extends her arms outward so that she may push down on the surface of the water, an action which forces her body upward, permitting her to breathe. This movement is not...
Trying to Return by Sandy Gillespie
“Trying to Return” by Sandy Gillespie The ledge is deep enough to sit on, wide enough for one. Damp ground, soft with layered leaves, is chill beneath me. A wood stove somewhere near breathes birch into the midnight sky — false sense of warmth. A full moon hangs cold light from heaven, a blaze of white to mark the river’s passing. I remember April’s jumbled crush of ice — the push of...
River Broken Story by Molly Scott
“River Broken Story” by Molly Scott A river runs between the ragged edges of my broken story Its blessing is its silence But when desire and longing rise up in me like a high wind keening never ever in my heart, and when the ghosts of gone loves jangle in the current like loosened stones, I run distracted on both sides of myself, wild, tearing my hair, believing everything and nothing, seeing rift and not the...
Valley River by Ethel Mays
“Valley River” by Ethel Mays See it running through fields of alfalfa and interloping wild oats, chasing after the sound of tight gut strummed over exotic woods crafted by the ones who know the music that must be played for the heart disappearing into green turning to sun beaten gold, valley floor the sacred anvil of the hammering sun, birds in flight with the ghosts of childhood memories: legs browned by...
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