Kate E. Lore, Lydia

Kate E. Lore

Lydia stands, dangerously close, next to the rapidly moving parts of the machine. It is so loud in her ear she can feel it in her skull. Her hair is gently shaking from the vibrations. Her eardrums hurt. They throb to the sound. Her eyes jiggle in their sockets. So she closes them.

The machine is at the center of the factory. It’s hidden behind the lines of smaller machines, and large storage bins, and a conveyer belt that cuts the room in half. Pallets are driven past. They are held up in the air, ten feet up off the ground, by a guy driving a forklift. On the ground, yellow lines are drawn in geometric shapes, splitting the entire warehouse into smaller pieces that fit perfectly together like a puzzle. These lines are here to keep the workers from leaving Continue reading “Kate E. Lore, Lydia”

Dawn Leas, Three Poems

Dawn Leas

I am a mosaic of Emerald Isle,
Italian leather and gypsy song.

I am swirls of magic,
Stories my grandmother told in Slovak,
a foreign language she lived in,
but never taught us.

I am salt. I am water.
Flowing blue to green,
dancing calm to chaos in a white foam dress.

I did not root in mountain mud
like an evergreen, but in sand,
like a pitch pine or orchid
moving with fire and breeze
in the barrens of New Jersey.

I am the woman
stepping off the known trail Continue reading “Dawn Leas, Three Poems”

Dean Robbins, Two Poems

You . . . Again
Dean Robbins

“I know. It’s just habit,”
he says standing too close
to an old memory;
trying to warm himself
against a coal burner
some weeks ago removed
from ever offering
to stay the cold again.
I smile, thinking of you,
and wish I did not know
exactly what he means.

Family Reunion
Dean Robbins

The snakeskin, most complete and long enough Continue reading “Dean Robbins, Two Poems”

Patricia Farnelli, Two Poems

Patricia Farnelli

My great-grandmother Augusta
saw leprechauns daily.
She shared her high four-poster bed with me,
age three.
I slept on the side against the wall.
When wee green men
danced on her chest of drawers
she would yell for my mother
to bring a broom
and sweep them away.

My great-grandmother was thin
and wore cat-eye glasses
and she’d say, “Let’s go for a walk
around the block”
and take me by the hand
and we’d walk a few laps
around the dining room table. Continue reading “Patricia Farnelli, Two Poems”

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