Letter to Francisco

by Mark Ramirez
I wonder what it feels like to die; to feel the rhythm of your body / fall to rest as you watch your final breath dissipate, / to speak only through dreams and the grainy film of memory.

Weeding

by Art Nahill
Kneeling amidst / the camellias, roses / culling the self / sown from the cultivated / the disdained / from the highly-regarded / I’m reminded / how circumstance / defines us

Red Apple

by Rustin Larson
I soak my sleeve in water just to foul things up a bit, / Create a small level of misery, to keep the defense / Honest.

Garden Constellations

by Amie Sharp
The yard looks still. / Winds riffle green-coin / leaves, slim white-preened bark.

The Hideaway Motel in Altoona, Pennsylvania

by Lauren Hall
Mrs. Norris begins the afterlife in room 3B, the wheels of an empty suitcase skittering behind her. She takes her crossword puzzle to a café and bides her time.

Five Poems

by Simon Perchik
Though it’s familiar this flower / doesn’t recognize the breeze / wriggling out the ground / as that distance without any footsteps

Threnody for Paul Morphy

by Brian Glaser

The flowers are everywhere, pungent and bright. / It could be autumn, eighteen-fifty-seven.

Fragments of My Rape

by Janna Vought

It began / with the Stain. / The Stain, my Stain / red on a white bedspread / covered with bristles / of nylon thread.

Precision

by Carol Hamilton

Scarlatti’s sheet music lies / on the floor near the piano / and a catalog for later perusal / is sprawled in full color / near the computer.

Death Poems

by Laura Madeline Wiseman

I don’t know why death wants me or why death wakes me to press her bones against my backside. The ringing is incessant now. She has to know this.