by Roman Dial Trial and error Failure and terror The truth of the matter at hand. Death in a whisper Is so much to weather For the life of a Wife and her man.
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Emotion of Music
By Paige Flack Once upon a time, a little girl with wild blonde hair looked over the bluffs on the coast of Cook Inlet The sun was setting and below the sweet hum of the blowing wind, a gentle chorus of birds sang a sweet song Nature was presenting its symphony with absolute perfect timing and poise How beautiful it was That was one of the many times the little girl would be captivated and left in awe of the unfathomable wonders of music Every song had a story and a deep meaning behind it Even the earth, singing praises to our Creator Music is its own language It speaks…
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Last Train to Cragganock
By Allison O’Leary She waits for him every evening and his soft words mix with the smoky dusk and the music of the street buskers. 1958 passes in a blur of candlelit laughter, whiskey headaches, and clicking heels. She sees other women waiting for their lovers on street corners, cigarettes daintily clasped between red lips, leaning up against brick walls with the same pearls, same pinned hair, same anxious, begging eyes. She ain’t like them, she’ll say. Her hands tighten around her copy of Patrick MacDonogh poems he gave her the first night, trembling. He’s a upstanding man, a good Catholic. She’ll wear her rosary on the nights she stands…
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Dear X
by Anonymous Remembering Reverberation Echo Ripples in the water Butterfly effect How a decision made so long ago by someone else has made my life a tornado filled with fire His choice Made her leave And she taught me what to believe And he taught me how to be treated Did he know? Did he realize or understand that his decision would kill a little girl Letting her fall to his feet Screaming for him to wait Come back Don’t leave She’ll pick up each piece of herself Try to find anything to use as glue Instead she finds rocks Harsh waves Knives Why am I so addicted to people…
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Feminine Attributes
by Shelly Wozniak Flexing like a man, I attempt to remove a ring from a hand swollen with excess fluid, marking a cycle giving life, serving as a reminder that I am a woman. She wants me, but not my structure. Closing praying eyes she creates me from a rib – removing my breasts, the shape of my hips, giving me biceps I have no use for. We are daughters of Eve from different trees. Hers, tall and in the sun, mine, absent an Adam, flourishing in indirect light. We take in heat, and grow from water. Two similar compounds differing in an element, combustible, burning, attempting through reconstruction to…
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An Artist and his Muses/A Picasso Exhibit/Vancouver 2016
by Shelly Wozniak Piece by piece he took her apart, leaving only one letter of her name hidden above his signature. Nose of a pig, eyes that cannot possibly see, the convolution of her contour flattened by his hand to a pointless stroke. Her mangled chest and hips, reversed, reassembled to something easily understood. Resemblance more than real, he would say, compelled him to fracture the female. She has become a conversation piece, stripped down to the period. If her mouth were in the proper place I am sure she would scream.
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Darkness of Soul
by Patricia Pierce Graying clouds grow spindly wisps, highlighting the city’s twilight. Whispering wind, that only I can hear, severs memories of your voice. I pace, alone, where cobwebs dangle from unlit light poles. My spine shivers, cold. Summer heat rises from the pavement. My lungs pant for breath. The ever-present fear of sleep claws at my eyes, forbids me from glancing backward. Future forever the same: Days and nights without you. Darkness resides in my soul, promises of peace, no more.
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Today
by Patricia Pierce Today is one of those days I trek to your final spot, Near the bend in the highway, Where the curb and the light pole Bear chipped scars. I lay my head against your hand-hewn cross. Fingers dig into the moist soil, Unable to forget the night of your death, My sobs soak into nearby sprigs of green. I flip through Harley magazines That show black leather and tell stories, Watch the pictures and captions blue into you. Today is one of those days I feel the familiar flush of love and loss. Today is one of those days I miss you all over again.
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J. Stalin
by Allen Ginnett I met J. Stalin. Do you know who Stalin is? A West Oakland rapper; he rapped with the Jacka. But let me tell you how I started listening to Stalin, once upon a time in East Anchorage. When I got back to Alaska from junior college and a failed music video experiment, life started taking a different route. Mobbin’ E.A., blowin’ kush, slappin’ music is what I’m talking about. I laughed when I first heard about J. Stalin. Who is this rapper with generic, ghetto name? My friend, P, first put me on Stalin. Me and J. Miz was mobbin’ heavy to that Gas Nation and Prenuptial…
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Alaska Love
by Patricia Pierce Arrived broken, I thrive now, a transplant, a sourdough. Thirty-one years after the Last Frontier stole my heart, Nowhere else fills that space. Released into the wild, I, like salmon, swim away. Disappearing into the depths of rural Alaska, I decorate the outhouse with postcards; Haul water; split wood; I grow. Mountains, like the North Star, guide my travel. Beyond roads, onto islands, into tundra. Adventures outnumber adversities. Memories of each I respect. Slowly, I heal, accept mistakes, and embrace my scars. With family few and friends plenty, I am proud to have survived a place most unforgiving. Ripples from glacial waterways rush my fingertips; Northern Lights illuminate…
