CALL
By Dwight E. Humphries
My first wife called,
a day past my birthday;
She wanted to send me
Godspeed through the years,
Racing for the black embrace;
I cannot but help see the end.
There is a palpable
Silence between us--
No vacuum of love grown cold
But a birth of joy again.
It would only take a word
And we would be bathed
In all our small glory;
Two against the rest,
The slithering of time
Meaningless to us
Wrapped in our caring—
Is it addiction?
I don’t know but it keeps
Me going flat out
Against the stagnation
Of others’ earth.
She wants to clean
Her little house
And be free of the past
But I’m sure I won’t be
Cast out as old baggage,
Dragging on the heart—
I would give anything to
Taste and smell her hair again
As we joined against the darkness
Outside our eyes.
* * * *
Wings
By Nancy McDaniel
They told me I was going to make a movie.
So that morning, I dressed in my blue seersucker
romper that tied at each shoulder
and my ankle socks with the lacy blue flowers,
and they called me out into the back yard.
No, Honey. Go back in and come out slowly.
And smile at the camera.
So I came out slowly
smiling at the camera
and made my way down
by the small, inflatable pool.
Wave for the camera, Pumpkin. Smile pretty.
And from the corner of my eye
I could see a large, white
fluffiness drifting toward me.
Oh look! Here comes Goosey.
Wave to Goosey.
And I waved at the goose,
who was inching closer
as if in slow motion, her head tilted
and that single pea of an eye
fixed on me.
Look at the camera, Sunshine, and give
Goosey a pet.
And when I reached out slowly to pet
the goose, she exploded in a haze
of wings and feathers, and I fell backwards
into the pool, and I could hear myself screaming
under water, and when I opened my eyes
I saw above me two distorted faces, their mouths
moving and four giant hands reaching in to me
and for a second
a furious beating of white wings.
After dinner I was given five ginger snaps
and a cup of cream as appeasement.
I went to sleep that night, and to this day
I understand why dreams are opposed.
I understand how soaring is developed.
I understand why the goose had to be in the movie.
* * * *
Words (Context)
By Brent Taylor
For all the trouble it brings,
doesn’t it seem like we’d eventually just quit talking?
That our inexhaustible voice like a hammer
driving nails in the next apartment
would eventually cease its migraine pounding
once it realizes that it can never quite hang its narrow frame
around the dull echo of what it was we were trying to say.
Or at the very least, it seems like we would get hungry
and then we would have to close our mouths to eat,
but we don’t, and isn’t that the problem with the world these days?
That it’s okay to chew with your mouth open
as long as you’re saying ‘excuse me,’
and so we munch our words like they were apples,
we eat the parts we want and spit out others out like seeds, dropping
the cores at our feet where later we are sure to trip on them.
"Every word has its own meaning, singular and unique to itself,
and no word means quite the same thing as the next,"
someone famous said, and for the sake of argument we’ll say
it was Thomas Jefferson.
But then again, you can’t trust him
at least to hear my history teacher tell it,
all Jefferson talked about was freedom, but
he still owned slaves, and don’t actions speak
louder than words?
Supposedly, but you would never know to hear my ex-
her words climbed decibels like they were rungs on a ladder
to heaven, or if not heaven, at least someplace righteous.
But if you ask me, it was the things she said when she was calm
that made the difference, after the tears had fallen
like a summer shower, when I was left standing,
a puddle waiting to evaporate in the heat of her words
like a foot of rain-
which no matter how hard we try to fit it in our mouths,
they never say just what we mean.
* * * *
Hope perches in my soul
By Jennifer D. Page
Hope perches in my soul – singing, always singing - dawn is light, sleep is warm.
But outside a clanging, swirling world engulfs the song.
I strain to hear it, lose my footing, tossed about, struggling to stay me.
Confused. Bewildered. Grasping for endurance, longing for steady.
I’m tired, oh so tired.
Then I’m alone - flat, grey, endless rolling surf joins horizon out there, somewhere.
I hear it, the song, now B flat minor – a dirge.
I plug my ears, lie down, swallowed by surrender.
Hope still whispers, quiet and soft - Time gently takes my hands from my ears.
Outside lifting fog echoes the song.
I strain to hear it, on unsure footing, but slowly rising, struggling to find me.
Fragile. Breathing. Grasping for endurance, longing for steady.
I’m listening, gratefully listening.
(For Emily Dickinson, with gratitude)
* * * *
Becoming M’am
By Michelle F. Walker
I load my eggs, milk, bottle
of red wine, and rich
chocolate brownies aboard the rubber belt,
watch them move with little bounces,
jumps, toward my cashier,
some foreign boy, hair thick and brown, eyes
that I see are dark when he lifts them. While he
looks up codes for tomatoes,
olives, I catch myself eyeing his apron,
taut across his chest, the sash
wrapped twice around his waist: a perfect
pyramid. He takes my cash with a thank you,
M’am. The paper bag suddenly heavy,
like an adopted child on my hip.
* * * *
If God Wore Old Blue Jeans
By Molly McHaney
If God wore old blue jeans
there are times
I might like to feel
the omnipotent one
put me right in her pocket-
when I accidentally fall
into the deep hole
of my own anxiety,
on dark days
when I feel
particularly desolate
that’s when I wish to be beholden-
in the warm pocket
of a worn out pair of Levis
where I can stay
for a while,
and sleep.
* * * *
The Window Above the Sink
By Hilary King
Kitchens used to be built around
The window above the sink.
An everyday altar of
Knickknacks and aspirin,
It let in light
And let the housewife look out
On her children safely playing,
Her garden growing her laundry blowing,
The whole world rolling slowly
In and out of view.
Now everybody wants
An island in their kitchen.
Counters of shining stone,
Lights that hang like diamonds
Or disappear into the sky.
A computer at least and a tv
For everyone to watch
On the island.
The circus has come inside,
And our gaze followed the parade.
Distracted by appetite,
We linger less at the window
Above the sink. No more
Busy hands suddenly stopped
At the sight of a single backyard bird,
Red-feathered and watching.
* * * *
Remnants
By Damien Lyles
I miss the way we were,
with a cloud of possibilities over our heads.
Strangers standing in a potential mist
Long before arguments
Long before our first kiss
I miss the way we were,
falling – in love – like raindrops anxious to touch the ground.
Living for our blind conversations
Long before arguments
Long before real-life situations
I miss the way we were,
with the rising sun to our backs.
Grateful to welcome each new day
Long before arguments
Long before you pushed me away
I miss the way we were,
racing – to each other – like the ocean to touch the shore.
Feelings that we had dreamed of
Long before arguments
Long before we fell out of love
