Sleeping in Railroad Cave by Al Ortolani

We woke in the darkness, looking out

into the light, the entrance curtained

with ice. The sunlight caught

as it would behind a window,

luminescent like the first sun.

Already, trickles of melt were running

in barely detectable currents, cold beads

on the tips of the frozen. By mid-morning,

the ice would drop, a harvest loosened

from the limestone. Reluctantly,

we kicked our way out. The span of ice

shattered with the force of our boots

across the leaf fall. We emerged

into the early sun, cold pinching our nostrils,

each step a snapping twig, a circling crow,

a woodpecker drumming dead wood.



Al Ortolani's newest collection, Paper Birds Don’t Fly, will be released in 2016 from New York Quarterly Books. His poetry and reviews have appeared in journals such as Rattle, Prairie Schooner, New Letters, and New York Quarterly. His poems been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Currently, he teaches English in the Kansas City area.

Their Daughter by Martha Christina

Even in a small town

          no longer quite as small,

          news travels fast.


Today in the card shop

          the talk is all about

          the newcomers'

          teenage daughter,


how she balanced, briefly,
          on the bridge railing

          then took to the water

          like a flower,

          opening.

 

 

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 by Pecan Grove Press.

Along Back Roads by Martha Christina

Misfolded
and creased,
the map leads us
down Old Stage Road
to the intersection of
Bug Hill and Bear Swamp.
Left, then right, to Echo Valley,
where you pull over
near an abandoned farm
to photograph
not the blazing maples
but yet another
dilapidated barn.


An aspen beside
the shuttered house
gives an obligatory
shiver in the light wind.
Each day its leaves
turn a little more vibrant,
as if coloring
marked their future,
not their end.


I listen hard for voices,
a slammed door,
the bleat of sheep,
but hear only
crickets in the ditch
and the ticking
of our hazard lights.



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 by Pecan Grove Press.

Dreamscape by Claire Hersom

Until the silken silhouettes of the shore scatter

          gray warblers and chimney smoke marry fog
          hide in the oxygen of the river,
          dance with the cool draft that drifts
          out of the forest

                    never give up, you say
                    there is always a stronghold

In sleep, we fall to nothingness
while our minds gather at the round table to debate
what the day ignored

we wake with angst,
a vague sense of disapproval

who can tell what’s fact, fantasy,
or restless dream

but it’s morning now, a new day

so go ahead

rise



Claire Hersom is a native Mainer who lives in Winthrop. Her work appears in several poetry journals including Yankee Magazine. Her book, Drowning: A Poetic Memoir, (Moon Pie Press) was supplemental text for UMS Rockland campus. In 2011, she received an Emerging Artist Grant in Literature from Boston’s St. Botolph Club Foundation. She serves on the Board of Directors for Maine Equal Justice Partners, and volunteers in local schools giving poetry ‘workshops’. She is one of three organizers for the Hallowell Maine poetry venue, the Bookey Readings at the Harlow Gallery. Her poem, "October Moon" was recently anthologized in the second edition of Wes McNair’s laureate project, More Poems from Maine: Take Heart.

Drought by Claire Hersom

The lake
thirsting in the sun

          rests
          waits

saves its energy
dreams of winter
          its mouth wide open
          begging for an unrelenting
          rain

Shadows under the surface
their dark secrets revealed

          frown
          worry

plants reach,
so close now to freedom

Granite,
with its map of creation
appears

its cataracts removed
          so generously
          by the sun's intense
          and constant heat

the relentless summer
masquerading as beauty.



Claire Hersom is a native Mainer who lives in Winthrop. Her work appears in several poetry journals including Yankee Magazine. Her book, Drowning: A Poetic Memoir, (Moon Pie Press) was supplemental text for UMS Rockland campus. In 2011, she received an Emerging Artist Grant in Literature from Boston’s St. Botolph Club Foundation. She serves on the Board of Directors for Maine Equal Justice Partners, and volunteers in local schools giving poetry ‘workshops’. She is one of three organizers for the Hallowell Maine poetry venue, the Bookey Readings at the Harlow Gallery. Her poem, "October Moon" was recently anthologized in the second edition of Wes McNair’s laureate project, More Poems from Maine: Take Heart.

The war that would bring us together by Mark Danowsky

Once around the lunch table
a kid I hardly knew paced and ranted
about how a war with giant insect invaders
would bring us together

I wanted the war to come
to fruition, in my imagination
it would solve the petty everyday indecencies

This was before that geometry class
when we were shepherded to a tv
to watch a plane hit a building over and over



Mark Danowsky’s poetry has appeared in About Place, Beechwood Review, The Broadkill Review, Cordite, Red River Review, Shot Glass Journal and elsewhere. Originally from the Philadelphia area, Mark currently resides in North-Central West Virginia. He works for a private detective agency and is Managing Editor for the Schuylkill Valley Journal.