Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Silvia Scheibli
'Deji W. Adesoye
Chris Lord
Ali Znaidi
Paul B. Roth
Umm-e-Aiman Vejlani
Lyn Lifshin
Laszlo Slomovits
Naim Kelmendi
Richard Kostelanetz
Anton Gojcaj
Duane Locke
Jennifer Burd
David Ishaya Osu
Steve Barfield
Miguel A Bernao Burrieza
Richard Gartee
Violeta Allmuca
Alan Britt

Fred Wolven
Ilire Zajmi
Running Cub
Donal Mahoney
Fahredin Shehu
Peter Tase
Nahshon Cook
Al Ortolani
Alex Ferde
Anton Frost

Michelle Bailat-Jones
Lazlo Slomovits & Jennifer Burd

Karyn M. Bruce
A. J. Huffman
Michael D. Long



 


 



Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2014 Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
------------------------------------------------

staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

IN THE NEAR TREES

In the key of wind
autumn oaks
playing sky

at first just the note
of two dry leaves
touching

now becoming three,
becoming
one again.

One breath. And then
just as suddenly
still

I listen close still still. Then,
again, in one tree,
and gently on

to another, moving as a tender
look from face to face
to embrace

now a soft clattering
in an oaken cupboard,
plates rattled

by a passing freight train,
an earthquake far
as Antarctica,

or a shiver of memory all
the trees now shaking
but not

like an overexcited crowd
clapping, clamoring,
protesting

but like one moved
to a single
yes

coming to us now
and from here
moving on

 

MEMORY

is rain in a river
and all my sorrows
gather into
the torrent of
that one thick tear
on my mother's
cheek as she held
me howling when
my best friend Alice
moved away and her
family's stationwagon
bound for Illinois
disappeared around
the corner where we
once threw pennies
heads or tails right
or left to try to get
lost together
and I disappeared
into the sixth grade

 

A CERTAIN AGE

Perhaps we are like the huge maple
covering the lawn with our leaves
while thousands yet flutter
from branches and twigs
one by one to let go in a breeze
until all that is left is
everything about us
that nourished them

 

 

Jennifer Burd, Ypsilanti, Michigan

 


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