Saturday Somewhere by Ronald Moran

Now my palladium window is blocked by

                        a ferocious oak,

and my lawn is compromised to its roots

                        by its

unwitting partner, a resident mole, as if

                        they schemed

 

to discredit any hope for Yard of the Month

                        in my

cardboard neighborhood, which, of course,

                        I love––

my Jane having lived here for eight years––

                        and

 

on this Saturday, my weekend plans look like

                        a tabula rasa.

After so many years alone, you'd think,

                        Hey Ron,

get over it, accept it, get on with your life,

                        to which

 

my response is, What, after my 80 years?

                        I still

dream of my Jane, not in my usual dark

                        mode,

but, ordinarily, my wanting to get there

                        with her,

 

but the elevators don't work, the commuter

                        trains

have closed their doors, yet we are ready

                        to embark

on an adventure to a land we do not know

                        but hope to.

Ronald Moran lives in Simpsonville, South Carolina. His poems have been published in Asheville Poetry Review, Commonweal, Connecticut Poetry Review, Louisiana Review, Maryland Poetry Review, Negative Capability, North American Review, Northwest Review, South Carolina Review, Southern Review, Tar River Poetry, The Wallace Stevens Journal, and in thirteen books/chapbooks of poetry. Clemson University Press published his Eye of the World in the spring of 2016. He has won a number of awards for his writing. He will be inaugurated into Clemson University's AAH Hall of Fame this spring. 

Queen of Hearts by Ben Rasnic

She never speaks
but when I visit my Mom
at the nursing home
I can always count on her
being there
close by
with large engaging eyes
and an effortless smile.

I offer a “hello”,
& then, on cue, she fumbles through
her oversized handbag
and flashes a playing card,
the Joker. 

Flushed, I attempt
a disingenuous dialogue
to break through
the awkward silence.
Smiling back at me, she winks
& playfully holds up another card,   
a one-eyed Jack.

Now somewhat out of my element
I remark, “That’s nice,”                         
as she, feigning sleight of hand,
gradually draws another card
on the sly from her handbag,
before coyly revealing
the Queen of Hearts.

Having never perfected
my go-to poker face,
I saw the bright light in her eyes fade
as she shied away & stared hypnotically
at the linoleum floor.

I asked my mother
if she knows her.

“No”, she responded.
“She’s just here.”



Ben Rasnic finds sanctuary in a quiet Bowie, Maryland subdivision where the only sounds at night are crickets and the lonesome wail of a passing Norfolk Southern freight train.

Refrigerator Magnets by Ben Rasnic

I knew                                                       
I had become a man
when my accomplishments
no longer merited
attachment to the refrigerator door



Ben Rasnic finds sanctuary in a quiet Bowie, Maryland subdivision where the only sounds at night are crickets and the lonesome wail of a passing Norfolk Southern freight train.

For Fear of Being Alone by Ben Rasnic

I

For fear of being alone,
you go
to great lengths
to do anything
& everything
other than that
which makes you happy.

II

For fear of being alone,
you respond in ways
that are not yourself,
begging the question
“Who is this man
sleeping with my wife?”

III

For fear of being alone,
you pretend at the person
you think she wants you
to be;
arrive home to find
your belongings
neatly bundled on the front lawn
with a note that reads,
“I don’t know who you are anymore.”



Ben Rasnic finds sanctuary in a quiet Bowie, Maryland subdivision where the only sounds at night are crickets and the lonesome wail of a passing Norfolk Southern freight train.

Visiting the Dead by Howie Good

The gates are locked at night.
This is holy ground. A statute
of risen Christ has a deep, black vein
cutting through the left cheek.
I used to see seagulls everywhere.
But today there are none. Of course,
I miss them. They were entertainment,
watching them fly. All I feel now
is heartbreak. I’m going row by row,
headstone by headstone, talking
to people who have been dead for years,
once a sure sign that I was dreaming.



Howie Good's recent books include A Ghost Sings, a Door Opens from Another New Calligraphy and Robots vs. Kung Fu from AngelHouse Press. He co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely.

O Happy Day by Matt Dennison

Angie is eighty years-old
and has flaming red hair
piled hard above dry
cement eyes. Once
a day she takes
a break from spying upon
our treacherous lives
to stand on her back
step and smoke
while her lapdog,
fed to the point of
house-bound slavery,
stops his constant yapping
long enough to flop
down one step, two steps,
three and release as
Angie pours bleach
over the bricks
of another happy day



After a rather extended and varied second childhood in New Orleans, Matt Dennison’s work has appeared in Rattle, Bayou Magazine, Redivider, Natural Bridge, The Spoon River Poetry Review and Cider Press Review, among others. He has also made videos with poetry videographers Michael Dickes, Swoon, and Marie Craven.

As a Child by Martha Christina

I stumbled
up the stairs,
fumbled with
the closet doorknob,
tried, only by touching,
to find Mother's favorite
cotton dress; knowing
anytime I chose to,
I could open my eyes
and find her there,
wearing it, and laughing.



Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears recently or is forthcoming in Bryant Literary Review, Muse Literary Journal, Naugatuck River Review, and in earlier postings of Red Eft Review. Her second collection, Against Detachment, was published in April of 2016 by Pecan Grove Press.

The New Year by Martha Christina

the first this, the first that

a new digit to remember

leftovers, and laundry



Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears recently or is forthcoming in Bryant Literary Review, Muse Literary Journal, Naugatuck River Review, and in earlier postings of Red Eft Review. Her second collection, Against Detachment, was published in April of 2016 by Pecan Grove Press.