By Thomas Page Have you ever seen an atlas of puddles Speckle the pavement? An atlas of puddles My feet are wet to the bone, my socks drenched And my shoes seemingly soaked, man. An atlas of puddles The pavement undulates ever so low Making deltas in the city plan An atlas of puddles The … Continue reading Atlas of Puddles
“Akimbo”
By Thomas Page Walt Whitman, he himself, prepares to take a portrait. A portrait of something beyond the Walt that has been know. The Walt of Manhattan, the dandy pedagogue, known for his tendency To prefer the physical over the spiritual To desire what can be attained over what can be inferred He, the … Continue reading “Akimbo”
Homestead
By Thomas Page With the glide of a Pen, Emily Dickinson Writes a little poem. She looks out her room’s Window, the cemetery Calls her to picture Momento mori— The fly captures dying light From someone’s pale eyes The buzz steals the soul As the weak lids close firmly To open nevermore. She puts … Continue reading Homestead
Roots
By Emma Woodford Lydia green fronds a little brittle maneuvered carefully into place branches gently straightened out. Re-placed and pushed down, half a can of water doused whispering a loving chant. Bay tree planted, mold two holes and fold in roots. His ancestor lives in Brittany, kilometers from here, first planted in … Continue reading Roots
Time well-traveled
By Emma Woodford They knew their lives were shattered when he couldn’t find the key. Now she cries at every turn, tears like grains of sadness on her face. We love her house and feel her pain seeing our future in those grains.
Dreams
By Rajnish Mishra My father is a dreamer, has always been. Only now his dreams have enlarged spheres. Even then, back then, he dreamed a lot and talked of his dreams, of a suave move, a shrewd plan, a sure guide, ‘for dummies’ to the treasure at the end of the rainbow. Times … Continue reading Dreams
I Had a Dream
By Rajnish Mishra I had a dream, not a long time ago. It’s not the kind that I have anymore. In that dream I went back in time to a place that’s not there anymore. They were playing cricket there. I was playing my own age. So, I stood and watched them having all the … Continue reading I Had a Dream
Then I Left
By Rajnish Mishra, I come home after years and carry bribes along: bribes for minds to remember, to remind me the forgotten me. I carry chocolates for all. Death is of two kinds: permanent or temporary removal from a world. In my world of past I’m dead. I’m dead, nearly, for many. I’m dead … Continue reading Then I Left
Post-Work Remains Left
I forgot the applewood bacon in the work fridge. My mother sleeps on the couch as infomercials promising or your money-back guarantee sins blast like music during a tumbling event. There isn't a single Z for shut-eye for me to borrow this evening, I sweated them out in eight-and-a-half hour aisle increments, but I'll get 'em back … Continue reading Post-Work Remains Left
Sunday Morning, At a Friend’s
By Alyssa Trivett Trains hopscotch over hangnail tracks, lollygagging into the next privileged horizon, the soundbites chewing up any ear-space we have left. Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul. When not working two jobs, she listens to music and scrawls lines on the back of gas station receipts. Her work recently appeared at in Between … Continue reading Sunday Morning, At a Friend’s
Academy of the Heart And Mind 