Wren by John L. Stanizzi

a wren solos
where the offering of daybreak
brightens the road

and as the day
returns to heat
the bird’s music is sewn
into the branches
like lace
so delicate
it cannot be seen



John L. Stanizzi is the author 15 collections and has published in over 200+ journals, including Red Eft Review several times. You can find him in Prairie Schooner, Rattle, VIA, and others. His nonfiction is in Stone Coast, Metaworker, etc. John is a former Wesleyan University Etherington Scholar, Poet-in-Residence at Manchester Community College, and in 2021, he received a Connecticut Fellowship in Creative Writing – Non-Fiction from the Connecticut Office of Arts. His piece, "Pants," was named “Best of 2021” by Potato Soup Journal.

Shadow of the Gun by Howie Good

Video from the school shooting in Georgia
was playing with the sound off on the TV
behind the counter at the convenience mart.
“Have a good one,” the cashier rotely said,
handing me my change. I was still thinking
about the school shooting as I turned to leave.
The next customer in line towered above me,
a big, strong-looking guy in t-shirt and jeans
and with a six-pack of Bud Light tucked under
his thick right arm. Across the front his shirt
declaimed “Protect Gun Rights” in red, white,
and blue. I confess to it all as I would a crime.



Howie Good is a retired professor living on Cape Cod. His new poetry book, The Dark, is available from Sacred Parasite, a Berlin-based publisher.

Sweet Dreams by Jean Ryan

Because of backyard fledglings,
because of ferals and snakes and ticks,
I keep my cat inside, where his cupped ears are tuned
not to the scuttle of a mouse but to the lid of his cat food,
where his night vision leads him not through deep woods
but around a monotony of furniture,
where his claws and fangs and whiskers
are only ornamentation.
Each day he sits at the back door, tail flapping,
and studies through the terminus of glass
the squirrels he will never chase,
the birds he will never kill.

Which is why I love to watch him dream.
Stretched alongside me, I see his paws twitch,
his muzzle crimp, the fur on his spine lift up.
In sleep he breaks free of my world
and finds another, some marvelous labyrinth
where small warm beings tremble in burrows
and unknowing birds peck at the ground.
Like a ribbon he moves toward the smell
of meat, he can already taste the blood.
And waiting there too is a willing mate,
ready each time he nods off.

My house is where he shelters.
Sleep is where he lives.



Jean Ryan, a native Vermonter, lives in coastal Alabama. She has published two short story collections, Survival Skills and Lovers and Loners. She has also published a novel, Lost Sister, a book of nature essays, Strange Company, and a poetry collection, A Day Like This. https://jean-ryan.com/