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Word Fountain

The Literary Magazine of the Osterhout Free Library

Carolyn Martin, Spring•Summer 2017

To the Police Officer Who Let Me Off the Hook
Carolyn Martin

You were right: eleven miles over sixty-five.
Can’t argue with a radar gun. Fair and clean,
you net my Honda Fit out of all those speeders
slashing through the Sunset Highway’s curves.

I can tell you now I almost cited Kepler’s Law
of Equal Areas: planets move faster when
they’re nearer to the sun. I could have teased
I was mimicking this natural principle. Continue reading “Carolyn Martin, Spring•Summer 2017”

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Erin L. Delaney, Spring•Summer 2017

Coming Back to Bukowski
Erin L. Delaney

Dispirited, I flip through piles of books
looking for something new,
something to bring on some fire.
Instead I stare down Bukowski.

We’ve been introduced before.
I open Dog from Hell’s pages,
readjust the glue,
recover the nonstick binding.

He provokes me,
pours me a glass
of words,
and this drink ignites
my pen to paper—
a drunken admission
a bare-handed back alley boxing match Continue reading “Erin L. Delaney, Spring•Summer 2017”

Craig W. Steel, Spring•Summer 2017

Sunrise Psalm
Craig W. Steele

“Dawn was breaking over the horizon,
shell pink and faintly gold…”
—J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Dawn’s light chases Ephialtes’
shadows back into their secret
caves, dispersing them about my
yard, beyond the fence and down the
road in all directions. Glowing
pink in every puddle where the
gold-eyed Eos bathes her face, it
burnishes the dewy leaves and
grass until they’re glinting like fine
crystal, brightening my way today.

Continue reading “Craig W. Steel, Spring•Summer 2017”

Marjon van Bruggen, Spring•Summer 2017

Sound Shadows
Marjon van Bruggen

Do you hear
the sound below the sound
of our footsteps?
The wiry black whine
of bluebottles sleeping
or the tiny sudden shock
as thorns emerge on the rose

subtle things,
I tiptoe in its shadows and listen—

the goldfish discussing
the coming contest
the delicate slurp
of drinking fireflies
and the dancing dust
in the center of sunflowers,
against the glint of granite. Continue reading “Marjon van Bruggen, Spring•Summer 2017”

Alan Harris, Spring•Summer 2017

Dead Man’s Hat
Alan Harris

I found this hat in the desert
the head it belonged to was nowhere in sight
I shook out the sand
and believe any bugs that had called it home
were thoroughly baked in the sun
along with the previous owner Continue reading “Alan Harris, Spring•Summer 2017”

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