Ann Arbor Review


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

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


Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

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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



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