Today’s choice
Previous poems
Peter Leight
Instead of Dying I’m Taking a Trip
to Kansas
where the light appears
as if walking through a gate
in the air
opening the gate
and walking in
together with eleven
varieties of sunflowers
including the common one
you don’t need
to sprinkle the seed
in Kansas
domestic animals
outnumber the rest
the meadowlark has a dark V
on its yellow breast
for victory
or victim
it’s a mistake to assume
that everything is independent
I’m closing my mouth
to keep out the air
not even taking the ribbon
out of my hair
in Kansas
there’s a grinder
for everything
that needs to be ground
when relationships end
there’s nothing to replace them
in Kansas you go
to the stars with difficulties
relationships end
when there’s nothing
to continue
right now
I’m turning off the ringer
on my phone
it’s not a refuge
if I’m not gone
nobody minds
if I stay a little longer
Peter Leight has previously published poems in Paris Review, AGNI, Beloit Poetry Review, Raritan, Matter, and other magazines.
Gill Horitz
I woke to workers with blades
along the verge, yellow-jacketed
to signify contracted rights
Anita Karla Kelly, CE Collins, Clare Painter on International Women’s Day
In the beginning of the end she bit the thing she wasn’t meant to bite.
Apple stuck in her throat, one bite taken, then swallowed whole.
Elaine Baker
To my Ovaries
My cahoonas. My muscular daisies.
Potent white olives. You make me sick.
Jan FitzGerald
What is not to love
when you draw back curtains
and taste clouds
in their newness and innocence
Helen Finney
At my feet the window sprawls a view of kneaded land,
craggy baked by the hand of the gods, dusted green
with short bit grass.
Eugene O’Hare
It hasn’t been this bright all year –
the moon’s white scalp, spot-lit,
a head turned away from a thing
the rest of us fear: unearthly dark
Juliet Humphreys
Though I am not a painter
this is to be a portrait
of my parents and my sister.
Julian Dobson
You too I guess
have studied the surviving starlings
as they swoop and whistle
by the snack trailer at Moorfoot
Mark Czanik
I loved the tales Luke told me of starving writers,
and the sacrifices they made following their hearts.
Philip K Dick eating dog food. Bukowski’s candy bars.