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Index: Poetry & Fiction

Vessel.

Fortnightly Fiction. By Melita Schaum.      f course the cup had to break. After all her efforts to keep this place clean and undamaged, to leave with a thank you and the lightest of footprints, to show them to be good people who might be invited back, to be a faithful steward, tenant, guest, […]

Still Life.

And two more new poems. By Melita Schaum.     1. I KNEW my husband’s life before I knew him. A book left on the windowsill, the way the light fell on the chair in his reading corner, the color of his bowls, his shoes under the bed worn just so along the heel. I […]

‘Three Postcards’ and a prose poem.

By LINDA BLACK. Three Postcards (on the wall behind me) ‘A Sign of the Times — Mended Stockings’, Dorothea Lange, 1934                (From a gelatin silver enlargement print.) ‘That photograph never ceases to amaze me . . . From below the knee, above obscured by darkness: calves overlocked, ankles […]

Six Prose Poems.

Pietro De Marchi: ‘‘And when summer’s over and the swallows go, what do the horses do with all those flies?’

‘They’ve still got their tails, as I’ve already told you. But then, when the swallows migrate, the horses don’t need their tails, because there aren’t flies either anymore. Have you ever seen flies in winter?’’

Mariangela.

Ian Seed: ‘Duncan remembered she had not wanted to go into the photo booth at Turin Porto Nuovo station the evening he had left on a train. She was cross, thought she wouldn’t look good on a passport photo.’

Two Poems.

Moriana Delgado: ‘let’s say I have a cradle inside, let’s say
bananas won’t ripen but something about how time is given
and it’s not pity I’m after.’

Three texts.

Rupert Loydell: ‘Do we have a right to behave so proprietorially? The absorption of new words into everyday speech signals the democratization of the notoriously conservative within an always cautious society.’

Windows or Mirrors…

Charles Martin: ‘Small doubts harbor large doubts, which we fear
Will harbor larger doubts as they draw near.’

Hautes Études and Mudra.

Michael Londra: ‘Heart rate near zero,
doctors saying she could
no longer hear, no longer respond,
I panicked, said it all in a rush.’

On Learning a Poet I Admire Often Carries a Pocket Knife.

David Greenspan: ‘Oh root, oh rot, we petition

continuous point mapping, don’t
name it graph, equation of
solitude.’

Seven short poems.

Lucian Staiano-Daniels: ‘and went down to the sea in ships the lightcreating air
untarnished’

5 x 7.

John Matthias: ‘Feel the
Fetters Oh man of letters.
Yield to the testy awkwardness
You care not to confess.’

You Haven’t Understood.

Amy Glynn: ‘They say
nature is not schizophrenic, meaning the sigh
of the surf, and the ice-gleam and what you’re exhaling, it’s

the same thing.’

Long Live the King.

Eliot Cardinaux: ‘At the end of my biography
the goats were yelling

up a wholesome pitch’

Four Poems on Affairs of State.

Peter Robinson: ‘That Haunted House across the park
with name in red graffiti letters
on tromp-l’oeil weatherboarding is
so very much the worse for wear…’