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Poetry

Mouth

That’s all I see of her now. The wide open hole that never closes. A tunnel of darkness too dry to enter. No one wants to anymore, anyway. Except me.…

Poetry | April 2004 | By Esther Altshul Helfgott


Sepia Photo — One-Room Schoolhouse 1917

Master Breen poses in the top row, his hands folded across his chest like Cuchulain, the tips of his handle-bar mustache brush his checked cravat. My mother — just a…

Poetry | April 2004 | By Liz Dolan


Children Dancing

It is said that to dance on a graveIs disrespectful of the dead. But now, in the sunlight of late May,The children dance on their great-grandmother’s grave. My mother would…

Poetry | April 2004 | By Cammy Iverson


Alternation of Generation

My mother dressed me in red. A good red winter coat. Red socks to cheer up the plaids. Red barrettes in my brown hair. Later, a good black wool skirt,…

Poetry | April 2004 | By Kathryn Kerr


Museum Piece

    Heart drums under heart                         Limbs hung               feet flutterkick lungs The head gentles              …

Poetry | March 2004 | By Anne Boyer


Dreaming the Meuse Lizard

         Her child shall be widowed          in unspeakable ways I dream him a blind or lame Damian paddle-limbed with a thrusting jaw (Why give him…

Poetry | March 2004 | By Carine Topal


Song for the first, when first conceived (of)

Sing yourself from the choirs Of the unsung. Who can sing Of you? Gigantic as an apple seed, the first lullaby burning on the bush. Sic your dogs on my…

Poetry | March 2004 | By Anne Boyer


Old Body

Sleeping Beauty’s kingdom slept for longer than we have been crying. And didn’t that story begin with the pain of parents and an only child? I am two dead babies…

Poetry | March 2004 | By Julia Lisella


Scottie

Your daddy cried first with the sound pain makes– when it’s wrapped up tight, tight as empty, and it still leaks out in gasps and wheezes, with a little choking…

Poetry | March 2004 | By Trish Lindsey Jaggers


The Glossy Bodies of Peppers

Five years from the time I last saw him I return for a visit mid-September with Michelle and Christy, my two young daughters, to find Nonno continues the practice of…

Poetry | March 2004 | By Denise Calvetti Michaels


Matermorphosis

A candle flickers, Shadows dance erotic on wall, Curves sway, make waves. Cloth is shed, left behind Like skin from snake’s body. Arms and legs weave into Kama Sutra poses,…

Poetry | March 2004 | By KerryAnn Cochrane


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