Promise by Barbara Sullivan
“Promise” by Barbara Sullivan Age is the great unseen divider of souls—each from the other and from its own former selves—and at the same time, it’s the one commonality that can be counted on: we have only to wait a while and we understand everyone. Time both speeds up and elongates as one ages—maybe relativity is somehow at work—and I feel close to the people I have loved and lost in a new way as I pass...
The Mirror by Lytton Bell
“The Mirror” by Lytton Bell Look into the mirror and do not flinch You can see Death now rubbing her hands together spotted, wrinkled, bulging with veins engulfing every part of you without judgment You’re a woman with no past always threading her needles on the first try a flurry of diet pills and designer jeans never to be all you might have been You could be lost and not know it a castle with...
Karma by Felicia Mitchell
“Karma” by Felicia Mitchell Saving the sparrow whose small self is wound by wire may not save the cat half eaten by coyote. It may not save even me from myself, sorrow coiled around my heart like a copperhead. I love my cat. I love the coyote that tried to eat the cat. But I am sad about the cat, as sad as a woman crying. I know it is what it is, this snake that will strike or not strike, on any given day, no...
Beginning the Journey by Ruth Thompson
“Beginning the Journey” by Ruth Thompson Something is ended. She launches the small paper boat of it out onto the ocean and turns to the west. To wade out through glittering and foam, to lie upon the deep, to be a membrane between stars and mirrored stars. Then when her throat is full of all the voices she can carry, to turn and swim for shore. To run back, crying messages...
Why You’re Afraid of the Road by Charlotte Muse
“Why You’re Afraid of the Road” by Charlotte Muse There is room for one car, but what if the wheels miss and the car hangs over the edge with two tires spinning? You’d be moving frantically against the door, hoping to keep the balance or get out. Never would the yellow dust of the road seem so desirable; the blue sky so thin and threatening; and you a turned-over turtle, a blind bird! Or what if you...
October Ends by Marsha Howland
“October Ends” by Marsha Howland For Maureen, 1983-2014 The morning rain has ended; the afternoon mist has finally lifted. Late-day sun shines soft and bronze through the yellow and orange leaves at the edge of the woods. It envelops me, then passes on through the French doors, resting on the wall with the Wyeth print. It has reached the end of its journey, this light that has traveled a hundred...
Responsibility by Shirley Plummer
“Responsibility” by Shirley Plummer weary thoughts of the end arise when how if I knew certainly would I make a pragmatic plan? or throw up my hands shout ‘live it up, make hay –‘ why not? if there were sun to lie in I might lie in it stretch and relax enjoy for the first time total freedom ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Shirley...
Plunge by Margaret Chula
“Plunge” by Margaret Chula The water felt neither warm nor cold as I sank into the sea after hitting my forehead against a borrowed surfboard. The blaze of sunlight on water brought me back to the surface—pulled out of the rip tide by strangers. During World War II, it was the job of school girls from Chiran to take care of kamikaze pilots— washing their laundry, sewing on buttons, and saying good-bye as the...
Singing at the End by Molly Scott
“Singing at the End” by Molly Scott How do we know when that is – the end? so we can put our boots on, so we can be sure our doors are open and all the chores are done, so we can feel the breath, the precious breath move through the bone house one more time ribboned with song. When the sound is right, the singer knows. It’s muscles, really, and intent, an exercise of tensing this, releasing that, a gesture –...
Cycle for Nembetsu Udori, Festival to Summon Ancestral Spirits by Judy Schavrien
“Cycle for Nembetsu Udori, Festival to Summon Ancestral Spirits” by Judy Schavrien Summer in Kyoto, Remembering Van Gogh Cicada(1) at Dawn From the full-throated throb you alight – sawing your single note. Noon: Remembering Van Gogh on Mt. Heiei Noon swelled to bursting. In the pine’s blue flame – one sudden cicada! Sunset Cicada, silent in a ray of sunset you weld to the branch. Night Cicada, with all your...
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The Deepest Place Jul 26, 2025
