Amnesia
by Jane W., Makanda, IL
I don’t remember
God.
I don’t remember
Receiving life,
Receiving a soul.
I don’t remember
Evolving;
Being naturally selected;
Being mutated.
I don’t remember
What’s in the dark
To fear.
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An Unripe Proposal
by Andrea M., Beverly, MA
Hard-hardened apricots
Domino slowly from the shelf above the microwave
Teasing water plays rhythm in the steel sink
The screw holding the faucet in place is left slightly askew
Radiation from the peach, pealing heater coughs
China cups in blue mosaic patterns
Lay with ...
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Bipolar
by Mike B., Mattawan, MI
Black and White
photo negatives fighting together
in the night. But
when brought to the Light,
create one picture.
One being.
the Black is so dark it swallows
you. It is all the despair and
sadness in the world made up
to create one side.
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Cell Call
by Brian M., Carol Stream, IL
Greetings escape your mouth
snakes in the tiny voice box
diced into a million
tiny pieces
swept through and up
a tiny point
shot like a bullet into space
arriving in the space factory
boxed and shipped out
in milliseconds
sent swirling down the ...
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Changing the Channel
by Brianna M., Idyllwild, CA
Her father’s eyes were glazed over
In a crimson spider web.
The suitcase was closed with a shirt sleeve
Dragging across the floor behind him.
His other hand held a 40-ounce so he
Couldn’t, wouldn’t hold his pigtailed princess.
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Computer
by Shelbie L., Cape Coral, FL
With keys
That play
A rickety tune
I spell
Letters.
I spell
Words.
My cords
Tangled like
Spaghetti noodles.
I catch
Viruses that my
Pet mouse eats.
I type
Everything you
See on my
Desktop.
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Crumbs
by Kathryn M., Haymarket, VA
gingerbread men
with gumdrop buttons and
a smile of frosting -
I hold their crumbling
life within my hands
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Gossip
by Sonora M., Conifer, CO
Two old ladies
Who possess less innocence than fat
Snakes
Sit cross-legged
At tea
Looking florally hideous in lace-pressed skirts
They cackle and grin
Eating each other’s thoughts alive.
They may be wrinkly
and hook-nosed
But they are ripe on the vine.
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James 4:13-15
by Kristen K., Hopkinton, MA
I had almost popped the last piece into place,
The rounded cardboard nub fit perfectly into its counterpart
Or so I thought
I had almost popped the last piece into place
When You overturned the table.
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June
by Ming M., E. Setauket, NY
She has seen things.
It’s there -
brimming under the tired eyes,
the disheveled pepper and salt wisps of hair.
She has seen the endless possibilities
of shoelaces and wine bottles,
yellow ochre and cadmium red,
lenses and paintbrushes.
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Life In High School
by Chris R., Mason, OH
I am but a cube,
Spinning, twisting for a side to live best,
To find the best side to live,
For it is like this the world enters my eyes,
And never a perfect sphere has been lived.
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Memory
by Kim L., Vancouver, WA
You must squeeze
into the small corridor
between past and present
to find a memory.
You will see it,
floating around the great
expanse of air
Waiting
for the hand of imagination
to catch it.
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Shiny Things
by Rachel V., Katonah, NY
they made her dance in pretty shiny things
on all fours in a jester’s hat
they made her eat her silver tears
and make a mask of clay
but they took her paper heart
and their scissors snipped it away
and she was left with nothing but herself
a broken ...
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Squishy Ishy Lazy
by Kate W., Charlottesville, VA
I like featherbeds
In them I dream
Joyous dreams
Of sublime wishes
Of aspirations;
I want to be a painter!
But I am instead a fainter,
Me, my pillow, this bed
Is so squishy ishy ishy,
Soft; nearly velveteen!
And ripply like water
When I sink into ...
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The 22 Sounds of My Father
by Amanda B., Tucson, AZ
Mr. Tambourine Man” by Bob Dylan playing on the car radio
Boots hitting against the polished brick floor of my hallway
The History Channel left on at two a.m.
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The Cry of the Seasons
by Cassandra C., Abington, MA
A sheet of a person
covered in the winter’s snow
is he already gone?
No one will know
His body lay open
in the hot summer sun
his spirit is roaming
no longer the source of their fun
When they find his body
in the crisp autumn air
will they realize what ...
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The Past
by Wujun K., Chapel Hill, NC
I miss the yellow leaf
Which fell upon my head
And the church bell that announced
What time is what
And the tree I have climbed so oft
And the white dogs that barked
And barked inside a fence
I long to see friendly faces
Who smile at me through the windows
On a ...
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The Scream of the Butterfly
by Charles R., Glendale, AZ
A scream that’s seldom heard by man
Was listened to by one.
This cry was of the butterfly,
Its silence overcome.
And so this man had found the door,
His prison stay was gone.
He’d broken through perception’s grasp
Surrounded, he was lone.
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To be continued
by Stephanie H., Mequon, WI
Ludwig lavishly lured Savanna into love.
When the morning broke into several misshapen figures,
She awoke by his side neatly furled in an infinite white blanket.
For breakfast he stuffed her full of affection. They sat and
watched the sun rise and the dripping grass dry.
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Under Normal Circumstances
by Sara L., Melrose, MA
Fallen leaves cover the lawn
like one of the most beautiful
impressionist paintings
Like Monet himself had paid a visit
last night to a quiet Massachusetts suburb.
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