Poetry

Through the harsh whistle of a bullying Blue Jay from the feeder, the Common Yellowthroat’s wichity-wichity-wichity, we find our own through bill and tap and rhythmic drumming on drainpipe, bone against bone. So much...

He spoke seven languages and was never allowed to leave the country. He’d gone to school in Paris, which made him an enemy of the people. I’m sorry, but...

A poem by Jenny C. Lares

Time to bathe al fresco watched by frosty stars and a crescent moon. I twist quickly for warmth beneath needle-like strands of hot water dispensed by an ancient showerhead, its shadow stretched...

an angel fell asleep on my shoulder last evening, in the train car aswarm with humans who had tumbled in from the city, some drunken with reddish marbles for eyes, some...