The Blog

The Fox

Liam O'Brien

This constant changing. Strange, new—honey locust

making a copper carpet on the grass.

A wave is rolling underneath: the past

gets bigger, different. More, and more, and less

myself. Dreaming today, I took a fox

to safety, though he struggled. Corridor

of green. Limited vistas, choices. Luck

On Marriage

Kevin A. González

Together, at dusk, we empty the compost.

If only my people could see me now:

misting the moonwalkers, fishing lost

shards of eggshell out of the muck.  Somehow

I have become a person who does this.

And after the last thread of light has slipped

through the fence and you shed your hat and strip

On Dark Days, I Imagine My Parents' Wedding Video

James Allen Hall

I like how my mother, Anita Bryant, waves to the cameras

without looking at the men behind them, keeping her chastity

intact, unassailable as her perfect coiffure, dark as coffee,

the white saucer of her powdered face.  I like the news

conference, its swirling choreography of men and microphones

(always on the periphery, a vulgar joke about to declare itself

in the throng of serious journalists, one of whom is a pretender,


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