Poetry


As If It Were a Child

by KATHLEEN HELLEN

she wears the thinness of the aged tree,
the plans that have miscarried.

She’d lost eight last season.


My Eighth Birthday

by ERIC FISHER STONE

life has no meaning except life itself
and the sky needs no reason
for birds to fly there, the sun
rich enough for spiders


Recovering

by ELLIE ROGERS

That night, I searched the tree line
for her hide, tan among branches.
That night, I dreamed a birch grove,
paper strips hiding her white tail:


To Skin Bare

by MICHELLE MENTING

but no one is there to watch you

weather your notions as you strip lichen off bark, as you peel
bark from tree, as you reveal the bare trunk and the ooze of sap,

does anyone sense your thought-quake?


A Summer Linden

by TED KOOSER

This tree has a thousand little windows
that it throws open in the fall


Kiwano

by EMILY K. MICHAEL

My examinations are quickfingers tracing
predictable curves, dimples, blemishes.


At Carinae Viñedos, Mendoza

by ELLENE GLENN MOORE

But we have gone up into the mountains,
prayed at their feet and let our hands wander
over the desert plants


Safeguard

by JOHN SAAD

            yearlings
spring from brush
only to disappear   
   again


Raised Bed

by BETH MCDERMOTT

I think of the species
of mole with unformed


Newport

by JEREMY NATHAN MARKS

Salted shingles, wooden gables and
streets of stone: this city is a mandala
of whalebone and oil.

 


Sir David Attenborough, I Think I Love You

by RITA ORRELL

After lying in the cool dark sand,    you rise, khaki pants soaking
wet,    to show me the belly of a horseshoe crab,

 


The Day of Saint Richard of Wyche

by RODNEY NELSON

we want to go rowing on it
but more than cold is holding up
the river


Outlier

by AG SYNCLAIR

in the orchard
among half naked trees


Bérgère

by ALEXIS LATHEM

At this hour I watch the light gather up the wheat in her blue nets.
The ground thickens with mist and the throat of evening
gurgles and purrs. The goats are in their beds.