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Poetry

The Goddess of Destiny

She hugs me from behind my face in the mist of a mirror While standing beside fertile pots of yellow daises and forget-me-nots, my neighbor Betsy and I boasted about…

Poetry | August 2004 | By Janet Paszkowski


Woman Fables

Once a year, the woman swims across the Atlantic. The longing comes over her like a seasonal affliction, like ragweed allergies or the desire for Christmas lights. The woman does…

Poetry | August 2004 | By Peggy Hong


The Carol Lawrence School of Dance

Our girls tutu in adjacent rooms Princess costumes varieties of ruffled pink The right size still won’t fit in their age of pre- (pre-school, pre-constraint pre-smooth, pre-obey) Charming tumblers earning…

Poetry | August 2004 | By Carol Graser


Sanctuary

Balding, with a holistic practice. He pulls his trousers over his mild paunch, my dentist. In the bathroom of the 19th century building he has meticulously rehabbed is a calligraphed…

Poetry | July 2004 | By Peggy Hong


Family Bed

He’s made his way into our bed again, one small elbow dangerously close to my eye. And though I barely fit the sliver of middle you two back sleepers leave…

Poetry | July 2004 | By Ona Gritz


Three Sons and a Cow

may I trade a cow’s skull cracked, stained half the jaw gone for your dirty T-shirt? it reminds me of oil-rags and sons, bums up over the engine of an…

Poetry | July 2004 | By Joanna Weston


Moods (14 years old)

They say I have moods, that I am moody. Well, actually, I have only three moods — neutral, upset, and very upset. It’s they that have the moods, if that’s…

Poetry | July 2004 | By Sara Epstein


Edge of the Nest

Forty-five I watch My teenaged daughter Run breathless Into our house. Refrigerator open, She stops. Turns to me Eyes wide, It’s true, she says My friends joke I look just…

Poetry | July 2004 | By Jessica de Koninck


See That?

I’m rocking to the rhythm of the rain with Noah on my lap, His head nodding with each to and fro, His eyelids drooping, lashes casting spiky shadows on his…

Poetry | July 2004 | By Cat MacDiarmid


Boy Child

The stray ballpoint, a gun. Umbrella, a sword. Hands empty, the air gets a roundhouse kick. Is this typical “boy” I want to ask. Or just typical of this boy?…

Poetry | June 2004 | By Ona Gritz


Something New Under the Moon

I watch intently as the technician spreads ice-blue jelly over my daughter’s rounded stomach. For an instant, it seems as if we should trade places, and I should be lying…

Poetry | June 2004 | By Cat MacDiarmid


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