INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Michael D. Long
Karyn M. Wolven
One foot outside the blankets.
By the bed
Bare feet on your blue shirt,
And watch the jealous snow
Feign innocence against our window.
I will not wake you.
What dreams may linger
In the head of our bed,
In the cold clear morning of this room.
FOR THE DIRT POOR, AIN'T NOTHIN'
FANCY 'BOUT DYING
(for all my Grandmothers)
Up the holler, at night, a panther screams
like a woman dyin'.
Truth be told, womenfolk 'round here
got that kind of energy.
So long as there's corn bread coolin' on
the dyin' just lay down under a quilt and
to the weathered, sickle-shaped men
"It don't bother me none."
Shutta Crum, Ann Arbor, Michigan