Eternal Life Samir Atassi

The last time I saw you
in this world, it was in the darkened living
room. It was about
three in the morning when,
half passed-out
on the couch, I heard the rickety front door
fling open, followed by your unsteady foot-
falls and, close behind, a heavier tread.
She was the largest angel I’d ever seen
you lead home, over a hundred pounds heavier
than your heart,
easy.
She had to turn herself side-
ways to fit through your narrow bed-
room door, like a hulking cherub trying
to squeeze her bulk
past the gates of heaven. But,
always the gentleman,
you went in first.



Samir Atassi lives and works as a librarian in Cleveland, Ohio. He holds an MFA in Poetry from Ashland University, and his work has appeared in various publications including River Teeth, Painted Bride Quarterly and Sontag Mag. He was also the featured poet in the inaugural SLANT Forum.

Ringtone by Howie Good

I’ve a habit – an unfortunate one,
according to others – of leaving
the house without my cell phone.

Later I’ll run into someone who’ll
say, “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

Exactly.

Battered by coastal winds, stalks
of beach grass bend like commas

in a sentence that doesn’t need any.



Howie Good is a widely published but little-known poet.

at first by Matt Borczon

          -for Dana

I blamed
a deviated
septum, blamed
the nightmares
left over
from the war,
you blamed
the alcohol
and my restless
twitching, my
screaming out
whenever a
helicopter flew
over the house.

its been
15 years
and we
no longer
sleep in
the same bed

and I
no longer
remember if
this was
your idea
or mine.



Matt Borczon is a nurse and recently retired from the United States Navy. He lives and writes in Erie, PA. He says some days he wins and some days the war wins.

Snowplow Driver by Terri Kirby Erickson

He swears to his wife that snow hits
the ground with a scraping sound, none
of that silent night stuff most people

talk about in a winter storm.
After a heavy snowfall, when families

are still sleeping, he'll be clearing
the city’s major arteries, coffee cup
in one hand, steering wheel in the other.

He could drive his plow blind,
but keeps his eyes on the road in case

a deer decides to leap from the woods,
or an irate citizen jumps in front
of his truck, insisting his street needs

clearing first or he’ll have your job,
which as far as the snowplow driver

is concerned, he is welcome to try.
But it feels good to make the roads safe
for people whether they appreciate it

or not, though his dreams are often
filled—even on summer nights—with

the scrape, scrape of his plow, the wet
pavement shining like a warrior's
shield everywhere his blade has been.



Terri Kirby Erickson is the author of eight collections of poetry, including The Light That Follows Us Home, which will be released by Press 53 in the fall. Her work has been widely published and has won numerous awards, including the Joy Harjo Poetry Prize and International Book Award for Poetry.

Spoor Reader by Rose Mary Boehm

I am an intrepid tracker.
Hunting. I read broken twigs,
indentations in soft mud,
finding the fleeing crab
across endless sandflats.
I read my woman’s salty skin,
snail trails of dried tears.

I fear the hot jungle nights,
soft voices wafting in through
open windows.



A German-born UK national, Rose Mary Boehm lives and works in Lima, Peru. Author of two novels, eight poetry collections and one chapbook, her work has been widely published mostly by US poetry journals. A new full-length poetry collection is forthcoming in 2026. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/

Damselflies by Tamara Madison

Young girls gather at stage door,
feet turned out, their own
worn toe shoes in hand,
eager to capture autographs
on sweat-stained satin.
My mind is full of the one
I have just watched float
across the stage, a fine-bodied
flying thing so light
I could almost make out
her wings. I think
of the short life of a dancer's
career, a fleeting span
like that of a hummingbird,
a dragonfly, a moth. My child
was one of those girls
fluttering around stage doors
as the dancers exited, drawn
like damselflies to the light
of each dancer's singeing flame.



Tamara Madison is a California native and retired educator. She is the author of three full-length volumes of poetry, Wild Domestic, Moraine (both from Pearl Editions) and Morpheus Dips His Oar (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions), as well as two chapbooks, The Belly Remembers (Pearl Editions) and Along the Fault Line (Picture Show Press). Her work has appeared in the Writer’s Almanac, Sheila-Na-Gig, One Art, Worcester Review, and many other publications. Read more of her work at tamaramadisonpoetry.com.