ON OUR LAST NIGHT TOGETHER, SHE TOLD ME THIS - John Grey
She's telling me what would happen
if the sun went out
just like this camp-fire.
Portrait, in Miniature - Michael Dwayne Smith
I think of you,
and the smallest breeze disperses you
like the leaves of an unbound novel.
Survivors - Olga Zilberbourg
A methane explosion sealed a coal mine, killing many and leaving seventeen miners trapped underground.
One Careful Owner - Jane Broughton
When we met your paintwork was gleaming, an expensive varnish of vibrant racing red. You were Italian, a Lamborghini way out of my league.
Wittgenstein Sits at the Piano after the Long Cacophony of the War… - Matt Kendrick
The notes sound in his head.
Around the Bend - Melissa Holbrook Pierson
When I lived in the city and rode a motorcycle, all I could think about was getting out of the city to ride my motorcycle.
The Sporulation of Lucinda Graham - Rebecca Field
The last inhabitant of the farmhouse had left ten years ago, in a wooden box.
This Mother - Kevin Lichty
The tag on the Persian rug in our living room said Made in Pakistan, because Persian rugs made by Persians were dangerous things.
The Subtext of Skin - Mike Fox
I stood in Fred Bone’s workroom. On the walls, all around, were photos of exposed body parts.
Ode to Guthrie - Kevin Lichty
PFC Charlie Goodkind sat in a VA clinic examination room at Walter Reed Medical Center waiting patiently to hear the word “no” come out of his doctor's mouth.
