watching by Joanna Lee

herons stalk the edge of
civilization; the river
sings a marbled song
of fire and forgotten glory while
the sun casts about the rapids; geese
fish from the shallows, men
from the bridge. stones bake;
clouds come and go
like the old women searching
the banks for change and lost
youth while a train slows
with its mourner's whistle and i
lean on the edge of
wildness, watching.


Joanna Lee, VA, USA

Crazy Crow by Joseph Harker

what would possess him
to make a stage of the driveway
for his encrypted hopskip in
three-eight time–


some urgent fire is
smoldering under those
ruffled India ink shoulders


for perhaps he mourns
the loss of a secret magic
with words that are almost
forgotten language–


the depths of his eye
in turn reflect the beholder’s
like two mirrors face-to-face




Joseph Harker

Professor Winter by Mary McKeel

I feel like I’m on stage, ready to read a scene.
There’s no one to give me my cues,
or to take cues from me.

Reason says, the loyalty I gave you
is just a crumpled piece of paper.
I keep smoothing it out.

I love how the crocus comes back first
every year. No gardener needed.
Is persistence weakness, or strength?

I wanted to do something old – fashioned,
like give you a lock of my hair,
or keep a lock of yours.

I can’t keep from coming back every year
without betraying myself.


Mary McKeel, North Carolina, USA

My Mother’s Cancer by Kay Middleton

cold
winter days
strung together
like cheap beads
snap and spill
onto the earth
chattering hailstones
on window glass melting,
leaving circle scars
of unforgotten pain
tomorrow is gray asphalt
divided by white-lined
platitudes stretching straight
and flat between barren arms
of oak and birch on, undiluted,
to an unknown garden
devoid of fragrance,
yellow daffodils.


Kay Middleton, Virginia, USA