Backroads by Sarah Russell

A mosaic of grime blurs the view
through the only window left whole
on this homestead, abandoned to vermin
and weeds grown leggy through the floor.
The fields beyond cast an impressionist's haze --
matte pastels of wheat, barley, sky. In the bedroom,
I find a rag doll missing an arm. I cradle her,
feel the ache of mule-pulled plows,
drought-bleached days.



Sarah Russell has poems in Kentucky Review, Red River Review, Misfit Magazine, and Psaltery and Lyre, where she was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her collection, I lost summer somewhere will be published in May by Kelsay Press. She blogs at https://SarahRussellPoetry.net. 

Ephemera by Sarah Russell

I sit at the water's edge,
draw circles in the sand.

It was almost too civil. Last night
we walked down the beach
to the crab shack,
tied bibs around our necks,
and over a bucket of clams and corn
decided who got what.

Circles, short-lived in the tide,
my wedding ring in the dresser drawer.



Sarah Russell has poems in Kentucky Review, Red River Review, Misfit Magazine, and Psaltery and Lyre, where she was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her collection, I lost summer somewhere will be published in May by Kelsay Press. She blogs at https://SarahRussellPoetry.net. 

Mornings, after breakfast by Sarah Russell

Mother hangs her tea bags on the door,
winds the strings around the knob. Drips,
like paw prints, stain the old wood floor.
I don’t know why she does it. She never
uses them again. After her tea she gets
the big pot and scrubs vegetables for soup.
Her knife is rhythmic against the cutting board,
her felt slippers scuffing from counter to stove
and back again. I see her mouth move sometimes
as she sways, mincing, mincing her life.



Sarah Russell has poems in Kentucky Review, Red River Review, Misfit Magazine, and Psaltery and Lyre, where she was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her collection, I lost summer somewhere will be published in May by Kelsay Press. She blogs at https://SarahRussellPoetry.net. 

Where the wetlands were by Don Thompson

They’ve put down the baskets woven
to hold burdensome years
and learned at last not to worry
about gathering roots and acorns.

No hunger or thirst keeps them here,
but they stay close to implicit water—
an old habit that outlives flesh.
I’ve been watching: Yokut women,

not much more than shimmer,
a presence no one would notice
if not for their Tule reed skirts
swaying in the hot, windless air.



Don Thompson has been writing about the San Joaquin Valley for over fifty years, including a dozen or so books and chapbooks. For more info and links to publishers, visit his website at www.don-e-thompson.com.

"The central Texas..." by Bob Carlton

The central Texas

hills disappear

under develop-
ment to become nothing more

than roof
pitch and elevation



Bob Carlton (www.bobcarlton3.weebly.com) lives and works in Leander, TX.

"What Do You Want, You Naughty Boy?" by Ace Boggess

          —subject line of spam e-mail

as body bends a next line forms
tongued into existence

one I must interpret
landing songbirds on our lips

let them sing the happy consonance of ‘p’
the whiplash accident of ‘k’

shush us with ellipses
drag those jagged exclamations down our backs

I want a literary afterglow
to burn our fingers on a block of ice

to misinfer: I want us to announce ourselves
with hard breaks enjambing quiet

we will leave it to readers to determine
how our feet were tangled in our clothes



Ace Boggess is author of three books of poetry, most recently Ultra Deep Field (Brick Road, 2017), and the novel A Song Without a Melody (Hyperborea, 2016). His poems have appeared in River Styx, Harvard Review, Rhino, North Dakota Quarterly, and many other journals. He lives in Charleston, West Virginia.

Sitting by Matthew Borczon

in
the
waiting
room
I
don't
ask
my
dad
about
his
cancer
and
he
doesn't
ask
me
about
the

war. 

Matthew Borczon just published his 9th book of poetry, This Many Years After the War, which is available through Cajun Mutt Press. He has published widely in the small press and continues to serve in the US Navy reserve. He is the father of 4 children and works as a nurse to adults with developmental disabilities. 

September 2010 by Matthew Borczon

On
the
plane
into
Afghanistan
we
all
pretend
we
are
only
afraid
of
flying.



Matthew Borczon just published his 9th book of poetry, This Many Years After the War, which is available through Cajun Mutt Press. He has published widely in the small press and continues to serve in the US Navy reserve. He is the father of 4 children and works as a nurse to adults with developmental disabilities.

Summer in Starkville, MS by Matthew Johnson

During Mississippi summers,
The state swelters in the haze of an eternal sun.

No one sits out on the levee to moan;
The residents wax nostalgic of the Great Floods.
The shadows of the clouds are hot, and waterless;
The sun rises, and the animals flee to the river.

The catfish bubble and boil
In shriveling swamp water;
The fading magnolias slump to the ground,
Begging for the refuge of rain 𑁋

Despite July chasing away the folk until sundown,
You’d still see teenage boys
On the practice fields and vacant lawns,
Trying to catch the ghost of Jerry Rice.



Matthew Johnson's poetry has appeared in The Roanoke Review, Maudlin House and elsewhere. He is a Best of the Net Nominee (2017) and his debut collection is scheduled to be released in June by Kelsay Books. You can find him on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/Matt_Johnson_D.

12.29.18 / 8.19 a.m. / 50 degrees (Yes. 50. That is "not" a typo) by John L. Stanizzi

Plodding, low-slung clouds dull the pond’s reflection,

onerous and dense, they lay their shadows over the canopy of the hills;
nameless chickadees (which I’d name if could) outnumber the sparrows,
dawdling and silent this spring morn…winter morning.



John L. Stanizzi is author of the full-length collections – Ecstasy Among Ghosts, Sleepwalking, Dance Against the Wall, After the Bell, Hallelujah Time!, High Tide – Ebb Tide, and Four Bits. His poems have appeared in American Life in Poetry, The New York Quarterly, Paterson Literary Review, The Cortland Review, Rattle, Tar River Poetry, Rust & Moth, Connecticut River Review, Hawk & Handsaw, and many others. His latest collection, Chants, will be out in 2019 with Cervena Barva.

12.28.18 / 9.25 a.m. / 43 degrees by John L. Stanizzi

Pinpricks of easy rain like a negative of the stars,
orbiting what fragments of ice remain, and on a
naked branch nearby a crow rattles its castanets, flashing the
drear morning with gypsy sparks of sound.



John L. Stanizzi is author of the full-length collections – Ecstasy Among Ghosts, Sleepwalking, Dance Against the Wall, After the Bell, Hallelujah Time!, High Tide – Ebb Tide, and Four Bits. His poems have appeared in American Life in Poetry, The New York Quarterly, Paterson Literary Review, The Cortland Review, Rattle, Tar River Poetry, Rust & Moth, Connecticut River Review, Hawk & Handsaw, and many others. His latest collection, Chants, will be out in 2019 with Cervena Barva.