POETRY
Introduction by Arlene Ang
Jeff Alan - April Again
Tom Daley - Plume [After Is ...
Nicelle Davis - The Night Ci ...
Michael Diebert - Seniors
Daniela Elza and Al Rempel - ...
Janice Moore Fuller - Visita ...
Ricky Garni - After 5 Inches ...
Veronica Golos - Snow in Apr ...
Jean Hollander - Mare Imbriu ...
Allan Johnston - Yap
Tim Myers - Anorexic: A Ren ...
Eliza Victoria - Maps
Jeff Alan - April Again
Tom Daley - Plume [After Is ...
Nicelle Davis - The Night Ci ...
Michael Diebert - Seniors
Daniela Elza and Al Rempel - ...
Janice Moore Fuller - Visita ...
Ricky Garni - After 5 Inches ...
Veronica Golos - Snow in Apr ...
Jean Hollander - Mare Imbriu ...
Allan Johnston - Yap
Tim Myers - Anorexic: A Ren ...
Eliza Victoria - Maps

| RALLY Above snowbanks of flowering pear, maple shards glare white as the faces on the courthouse steps, where ranks in flag-striped t-shirts sing. An inch of ice six weeks ago and half a state in dark silence couldn't stop the endless streaming war chant. Now river birch bleeds from broken limbs, brush piles of redbud stacked beside the curb put out thick bloom. A robin's built her nest in there, set her clutch of sky-blue eggs low and open, waiting for the chipper. CHARITY'S PHILIPPIC No one can go before me with a brush to clear my path of ants my feet might crush. I am a democrat. I must bear my own bloodguilt --and that of any sweepers in my hire. Give me then an infinity of brooms, each sweeping the path of the one behind. Piety runs in a straight line out around the curve of space into a circle of Vestals to tend the holy fire of state. Mars got Rome on a Virgin Jehovah got the Vatican And the progeny of all that rape: ultrasonic bombers, winged chariots f from which any mother's child can thunder from the sky a rain of fire on this day's Sodom, Troy, Carthage. leave only rubble and salt for an eternity of tears. But oh yes I support our troops, bear in my dreams the weight of their killing, their being killed, as Mary holds through the millennia the dead weight of her son. She did not want a suicide warrior or a god, only a carpenter to repair the doorsill. MORAL CLARITY Light is always high noon here, lines plumb-bob straight, the Shadow small and neatly triangulated, forced to stand at the wrong end of Main Street in his black hat so our reluctant gentle sheriff can shoot him dead. The line between black and white is crisp and draws the eye to our blonde Charity who stands in the door to welcome us. Or is she there to keep us out? Who is meeting behind that drawn curtain? But don't think of that. The focus, as I said, is on our Charity, elegantly tall, starved to perfection. PRODIGY If that other son returns not to console but to scourge, to separate docile sheep from alien-eyed goats, with a word to melt the flesh of non-believers like lava from their bones, then I will place myself among the sinners and be grateful for the heat. |
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