My list says water herbs & roses bathe in howsmall you are & this is not defeat says foldclothes & that is not so bad a pleasing kind of curselike hose-water when I gush mint & mud-wet-rushoff my boots or when you hold fennel &
i was the scar, a cradle moon healing slowly, ghost at dawn, bone deep cut with brackish margin. you, lights in a puddle, flower twixt wind and rock, constellation of wisdom, drawn as a hand to salt split lips. Gerald P. Wickham hails from Wexford,
Q.M. is from China and currently lives in Atlanta, GA. His poems have appeared in Constellations, Lucky Jefferson, Penultimate Peanut, Scribendi, and Blue Tiger Review, among others.
In a dream, Deda Savo tells me he misses me, but we’ve never met, not in this life, not even almost. In the morning, I run to his tombstone candles in hand, climb uneven ground, weave through the dead people, find him sitting there with
The man bought three goldfish and a small fish tank at the wet market during his weekly grocery run. He happened to walk past the stall that sold ornamental fish, and stopped to take a look at one of the brightly glowing tanks. The man
Death is my greatest fear, bully, and teacher. He will appear suddenly or sometimes expectedly, like an angry hornet that flies into your open car window as you’re driving down an empty stretch of road. Hopefully, it will fly right back out with a gust
There is extensive scarring beneath the left knee. The ankle does not function properly, leaving the foot rigid and inflexible. Between us, the leg in question is affectionately called “the child’s leg”. It is strikingly thin, we agree. Standing up – especially after a long
JOCK STAYED IN A RED CEDAR-SIDED HOUSE. It was planted on land where he and Louise had settled decades earlier in the 1950s. The house was modest, with a roomy basement for Louise’s quilting, and bedrooms down there for when grandchildren came to visit. The
TW: Rape I was nineteen. Innocent. Arrogant. Thought I was invincible. Impervious. I could choke down cheap whiskey on Thursday nights and show up on time for my 10 am Friday class. I could blow my then-boyfriend at 7 pm and hit the town with
As I pass through my living room, a story in progress on CNN catches my attention. It’s December 2020 and the youngest member-elect of Congress, Madison Cawthorn, a 25-year-old Republican from North Carolina, is mid-apology for referring to Hitler as “Der Fuhrer.” Three years earlier,