Pillow
by Claire Taylor
yes, my love / I know / a pillow can be forts and mountains / stepping-stones that slide / on hardwood floors and end / in tears.
The Poem of the World
by Scudder Parker
reveals itself / like a doe’s hoof tapping ice / till she can drink.
In Her Last Days
by Peter J. Dudley
the chemo has burned out / and hospice watches / with tender eyes
Directions Back to Childhood
by Judith Waller Carroll
Turn left at the first sign of progress / and follow the old highway / along the Stillwater River.
Saving Sgt. Billings
by Kari Gunter-Seymour
We did what we could, / hid the bottles, drove what / was left of him deep / into the yawning hollow
First Nail
by Brendan Constantine
I take your portrait down to clean / and notice the scar of another / hanging, painted over.
The Noon Executions
by Susan M. Gelles
They heard the shots, and the cheers, and every Saturday night they drank to celebrate the everlasting strength of the regime.
Silent Night
by Mary Liza Hartong
Winter was still holding onto spring like a child who refuses to leave her blanket at home.
Thank You, Girls!
by Dvora Wolff Rabino
I’m culling needless items from kitchen, baths, and linen closets. I’m curating friendships. Now it’s your turn to go.
Thirteen
by Rebecca Foust
I was thirteen, and there was a boy’s mouth / where my legs met.