More water in it, once, the Rio Grande -
even rapids roughed its winding run
through what was wall-less desert.
On its southern side, where trade has made
the border porous, maquiladoras sprawl
under an unremitting sun.
Country women travel here,
eager to toil in broiling factories -
a better fate than starving by degrees.
It’s spring. The cactus blooms, spectacular.
Hummingbirds sip nectar; hover
over hot springs on the Mexican side -
although they easily could cross
El Rio’s shifting width, without
presenting any visas or passports.
Denise Provost has published two poetry collections, and in Ibbetson Street, Muddy River Poetry Review, qarrtsiluni, Poetry Porch, Constellations, and Light Quarterly. Twice Pushcart-nominated, Provost won Best Love Sonnet in the 2012 Maria C. Faust Sonnet Competition, the 2021 Samuel Washington Allen Prize, and was elected co-president of New England Poetry Club in 2022.
Tuesday, December 26, 2023
Saturday, December 9, 2023
Perseverance by Martha Christina
The downy woodpecker
clings to the suet cage,
helps itself to an easy
meal after unsuccessful
drumming on the lilac.
Breaking news loops
through the latest images
of chaos and tragedy.
The downy returns to
the lilac, drums again
at its dying center,
believing nourishment
can be found there.
Martha Christina has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). Her work appears in earlier issues of Red Eft Review, and recently in Star 82 Review, Crab Orchard Review, and Tiny Seed Journal. Born and raised in Indiana, she now lives in Bristol, Rhode Island.
clings to the suet cage,
helps itself to an easy
meal after unsuccessful
drumming on the lilac.
Breaking news loops
through the latest images
of chaos and tragedy.
The downy returns to
the lilac, drums again
at its dying center,
believing nourishment
can be found there.
Martha Christina has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). Her work appears in earlier issues of Red Eft Review, and recently in Star 82 Review, Crab Orchard Review, and Tiny Seed Journal. Born and raised in Indiana, she now lives in Bristol, Rhode Island.
Thursday, December 7, 2023
Special by Martha Christina
When the young squirrel
stood up on its hind legs
and immediately fell over
on its side, I thought: rabies.
The Animal Control Officer’s
line was busy, her message box,
full, so I hung up, and watched
from the window. It was easy
to distinguish it from others.
This squirrel worked hard to
balance on the old stump
spread with sunflower seeds.
It fell off, repeatedly, its right
rear leg, much shorter than
the other three, compromised.
But it could run away, and did.
If the squirrel’s story were mine
to create, not relate, it would
have been a story with a happy
ending, a metaphor for any
disadvantaged person or group.
Able to overcome hardship and
ignorance, able to convince those
who had been dismissive or hostile
that it was special in the very best
sense of the word.
Martha Christina has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). Her work appears in earlier issues of Red Eft Review, and recently in Star 82 Review, Crab Orchard Review, and Tiny Seed Journal. Born and raised in Indiana, she now lives in Bristol, Rhode Island.
stood up on its hind legs
and immediately fell over
on its side, I thought: rabies.
The Animal Control Officer’s
line was busy, her message box,
full, so I hung up, and watched
from the window. It was easy
to distinguish it from others.
This squirrel worked hard to
balance on the old stump
spread with sunflower seeds.
It fell off, repeatedly, its right
rear leg, much shorter than
the other three, compromised.
But it could run away, and did.
If the squirrel’s story were mine
to create, not relate, it would
have been a story with a happy
ending, a metaphor for any
disadvantaged person or group.
Able to overcome hardship and
ignorance, able to convince those
who had been dismissive or hostile
that it was special in the very best
sense of the word.
Martha Christina has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press). Her work appears in earlier issues of Red Eft Review, and recently in Star 82 Review, Crab Orchard Review, and Tiny Seed Journal. Born and raised in Indiana, she now lives in Bristol, Rhode Island.
Wednesday, December 6, 2023
Sympathy for the Devil by Howie Good
The old Armory, built to resemble a medieval castle
but undergoing renovations that fall, was imprisoned
in a cage of scaffolding, and imprisoned with it, strangely,
was a tree, tall and dignified, very possibly a white oak,
a capricious branch of which reached through the steel bars
and zigzagged out over the sidewalk and sometimes when
I passed on my way to and from cancer treatment would
shimmer as if for me its few remaining heart-shaped leaves.
Howie Good's newest poetry collection, Frowny Face, a mix of his prose poems and collages, is now available from Redhawk Publications. He co-edits the online journal UnLost, which is dedicated to found poetry.
but undergoing renovations that fall, was imprisoned
in a cage of scaffolding, and imprisoned with it, strangely,
was a tree, tall and dignified, very possibly a white oak,
a capricious branch of which reached through the steel bars
and zigzagged out over the sidewalk and sometimes when
I passed on my way to and from cancer treatment would
shimmer as if for me its few remaining heart-shaped leaves.
Howie Good's newest poetry collection, Frowny Face, a mix of his prose poems and collages, is now available from Redhawk Publications. He co-edits the online journal UnLost, which is dedicated to found poetry.
Friday, December 1, 2023
Desert Lake by Richard N. Mott
“Mystery ailment killing ducks at Virginia Lake”
— Reno Gazette-Journal, July 25, 1986
The summer our household came apart
I rose each day at dawn to walk a path
in dust on the heart-shaped shore of
a desert lake, one foot before the other
In a bid for survival against a backdrop
of dying wildlife: a contagion had swept
the lake leaving its flocks of waterfowl
rigid in the water and slowly sinking
Into the whirlpool of weeks that
I kept watch from the footpath
staying one step ahead of a loss
I felt might also pull me under.
Had I advised the stricken birds from
the safety of shore, I’d have told them:
Above all else, keep moving—away from
grief, let your headwinds lift you up.
Richard N. Mott is a late arrival to writing poetry, having spent a career in wildlife conservation and climate advocacy. His work has appeared in After the Pause, Mudfish, and Chiron Review.
— Reno Gazette-Journal, July 25, 1986
The summer our household came apart
I rose each day at dawn to walk a path
in dust on the heart-shaped shore of
a desert lake, one foot before the other
In a bid for survival against a backdrop
of dying wildlife: a contagion had swept
the lake leaving its flocks of waterfowl
rigid in the water and slowly sinking
Into the whirlpool of weeks that
I kept watch from the footpath
staying one step ahead of a loss
I felt might also pull me under.
Had I advised the stricken birds from
the safety of shore, I’d have told them:
Above all else, keep moving—away from
grief, let your headwinds lift you up.
Richard N. Mott is a late arrival to writing poetry, having spent a career in wildlife conservation and climate advocacy. His work has appeared in After the Pause, Mudfish, and Chiron Review.
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