Red Eft Review
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Thursday, April 16, 2026

On the Shelf by Laura Foley

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It’s made of green plastic but thick and heavy, translucent, poured into a mold. Seated in lotus, palms resting upward, hair in little curls...
Wednesday, April 15, 2026

Paul Westerberg doesn’t write love songs anymore by Alex Stolis

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& because you expect a poem about Minneapolis I’ll mention the Cherry on Spoon, crooked stars dotting First Ave; a drunkalogue about a b...
Tuesday, April 14, 2026

Adaptation by Meg Pokrass

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I’ve stood at low tide with my frizzy hair puffing, looking for starfish. I could never find them, with their simple eyes, like everyone els...
Sunday, April 12, 2026

Out in the Dark by Ruth Bavetta

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The television grumbles, plane crash off the coast, computer hackers, trouble in Israel and Iran. Newspapers lie on the floor. Out in the da...
1 comment:
Wednesday, April 8, 2026

Disposable Warmth by Lauren Poplock

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Somewhere over the Pacific, wrapped in one of those thin airline blankets that never quite cover your whole body, I realized I was falling f...
Thursday, April 2, 2026

Little Owls in the Olive Trees of the Castilian Plateau by Rose Mary Boehm

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The nearby village promised revelry— and there would be music, of course, a neat paso doble perhaps and the Aserejé, the 'ketchup song....
Sunday, March 29, 2026

My Father's Remains by Brian McAllister

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There with a scattering of his things, an old tie tack, a spelling medal, his lieutenant’s bars from the war, was the torn corner of an inde...
Friday, March 27, 2026

Babies and Blocks by Jacqueline Jules

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Babies build with blocks only to knock them down. They don’t circle their creation or ask for admiration. Instead, they giggle when the towe...
Wednesday, March 25, 2026

Condolences by Jacqueline Jules

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My pen poised above the pink rose on a card, I pause before writing standard sentiments, the way I always do, the way people did for me. Yes...
Friday, March 20, 2026

National Poetry Month by Mark Danowsky

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A reminder call to write each day and to read what we love and we should heed the call as well we know we should not need this nudge this to...
2 comments:
Wednesday, March 18, 2026

A Black Notebook by Steve Klepetar

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In my imagination I was in Berlin, riding a tram through the pale afternoon, the buildings whispering history through cracked paint. I ca...
2 comments:
Friday, February 20, 2026

Running into My Husband’s Dentist and His Dog on the Golf Course by Terri Kirby Erickson

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My husband’s dentist has this giant poodle named Ned that sits as still as a statue on the golf cart seat, his profile regal, his fur flappi...
Wednesday, February 11, 2026

Haiku by Gareth Nurden

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The goals I never chased Dreamcatcher Gareth Nurden is a haikuist from Newport, Wales and has had several hundred pieces published in ninete...
Wednesday, February 4, 2026

Bridges by Russell Rowland

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The Swift River, taking with it whatever it can carry, bringing nothing back— along with my adult daughter, I crossed dry-shod by means of a...
Tuesday, February 3, 2026

In the Memory Care Unit by Martha Christina

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the first snow smelled like white crayons eight nine ten eight nine ten those coats are watching me yesterday I lost the red petunia All the...
Monday, February 2, 2026

Roughage by Martha Christina

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What my mother called the family of greens she stabbed with her fork. She ate with determination, as though this might be her last meal. She...
Tuesday, January 27, 2026

Eternal Life Samir Atassi

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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 co...
Sunday, January 25, 2026

Ringtone by Howie Good

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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,...
1 comment:
Saturday, January 24, 2026

at first by Matt Borczon

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          -for Dana I blamed a deviated septum, blamed the nightmares left over from the war, you blamed the alcohol and my restless twitchi...
Thursday, January 22, 2026

Snowplow Driver by Terri Kirby Erickson

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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 s...
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