INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Lyn Lifshin
Jennifer Burd &
is an independent International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2013
Silver Grey Fox
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MAZE I want us to get lost in this corn, get stuck in dead center, meander so far that the cars from the county road sound like pings in a cave, get in over our heads, drop out of sight, lost in the maze, delight in amazement at our plight, light and luck. here in a hearth of tassels and whispers, is where I might spread out my arms, hold you tight to my chest and spend what's left of this night, this life, these breaths, not caring to ever return from the center of these soft, slow circles that make up our lives. TURNING TOWARD MARCH The shovel stands alone on the porch, while out front a collage of dirty snow is scattered about the brown, bare patches of what used to be a lawn. Down the street, the empty lot is beginning to show its old tires, bleach bottles, plywood and plastic bags and the storm gutters are filled with the twigs, dead leaves and dross of last December. In the neighbor's front yard, a child's bicycle balances seat down, the handlebars a snow angel, pedals pointing up like the beginnings of new flowers, while in garages, Hot Wheels begin to awake from winter's hibernation, counting the days until first equinox, waiting for the emergence of owners their silent engines idling. Richard L. Luftig, Pomona, California |