Mitch Goldwater, Two Poems

At the Now Vacant Lot on Bayard
Mitch Goldwater

I crouch to look at crocus blooms in random array
that trail along the sidewalk
and back across this urban square
of fresh-turned dirt and rusty debris.
A man stops his shuffle and stands above me. He has just returned
from the hospital, he says, a week after a transplant.
His skin is yellowed some.
He calls the purple heads
and golden eyes
on their stick-figure stems
Proud. Continue reading “Mitch Goldwater, Two Poems”

Abby Caplin, Two Poems

Abby Caplin

If, at the moment
of conception,
the matrix
of your corporeality
got plucked from the shelf
near the stove
of Consciousness,
and “you” were ladled
from the hot iron
rim of a dark-holed
kettle, lucky
if paired with soft
rolls and pats
of gold-foiled
buttery love,

while another “you,” by virtue
of spilling from the same
spoon (also into some horses, several
thousand rabbits, a trillion mosquitoes),
worked in a denim factory
in Bangladesh, your Continue reading “Abby Caplin, Two Poems”

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”

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