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Index: Poetry & Fiction

Kingfishers and cobblestones.

And five more new poems. By KITTY HAWKINS. • KINGFISHERS AND COBBLESTONES ON ERLEIGH Road the pavement shifts: beach at the edge of the world where compact sand imitates fish scales after the tide clocks off. Thanks to confident poet friends I’m including mulch in this one. Thanks to recommendations I use cathartic effectively. We’re […]

Please swipe right.

  By Chloe Phillips. ◊ blow things up for a living, so I guarantee that I can do your taxes. I’ll put on my uniform if you ask: I’m a volunteer firefighter, full-time pimp; I made $5,000,000 last year— that’s irrelevant. I’m known for being funny, like six-pack inducing funny;) My friends describe me as […]

Come dancing with me.

And two more new poems. By MARC VINCENZ.   Come Dancing with Me here are you headed with all that cargo? One often heard of those who made it. The messages filter back over the years, sometimes this way. He eyed me with a caterpillar resting over his socket. I could almost see that caterpillar […]

Zion Offramp 76–78.

By Mark Scroggins. 76. he child an animal to be tamed, made human, softened and planed, fitted in the missing puzzle-piece space, fine gradations and subtly lived conditions, a green light to walk. The volatile spirit of conversation or alcohol, fixed and channeled into the axis a crystal form. Apart, the trance- like life of […]


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?’’


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

Seven short poems.

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