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
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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
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NIGHTJARS
Nightjars like to rest their bellies in the dirt as the sun goes down—
on country roads and in pastures, right out there in the open—and also
just before dawn, when the dust is as cold as it will get before daylight
I remember you telling me about quiet spaces, about the shadows
and the angles, dust motes falling
Open my wings, you asked me, press them back until I don't feel them
anymore—please, you asked me
A nightjar is so good at hiding, an impossible creature to catch resting
on its dusty road. So I can only conjure up my own picture of their already
squat bodies flattened further as they settle against the cold, those soft
folded wings, beaks tipped down and the hard pebbles of soil pressed
to their breasts
I don’t remember anymore at what angle you held your hand to your face
or how deeply you squinted against the sun—but I can hear you breathing,
hear you ask me about the curve of the letter S, hear you untwist the ridge
of a silence
And what are those birds waiting for? For the light of my flashlight
to catch them at their night-games, with their round eyes aglow
and their twig feet buried deep into the fine soil and compounded leaves?
Their escape is a display, a showing off, a dark flight and taunting, but
you would say, be careful, the half-light draws them into broad spaces
you would say, press them down now, hold them still
Michelle Bailat-Jones, St.-Legier, Switzerland