Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Deji Adesoye
Changming Yuan
Violeta Allmuca
Beppe Costa
Engjell I. Berisha
Narendra Kumar Arya
Akwu Sunday Victor
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Laszlo Slomovits
Stefania Battistella
Agron Shele
Lana Bella
Fahredin Shehu
Alan Britt
Silvia Scheibli
Shutta Crum
Running Cub
Alex Ferde

Irsa Ruci
Jennifer Burd
Paul B. Roth
Richard Gartee
Elisavietta Ritchie
Peycho Kanev
Helen Gyigya
Amit Parmessur
Sneha Subramanian Kanta
Robert Nisbet

Jeton Kelmendi
Duane Locke

Lyn Lifshin

Richard Lynch
Jean McNerney
Fred Wolven


Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2017 Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
------------------------------------------------

AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 48 years all together....

------------------------------------------------
staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven


Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

MAP THIS MAKING

 

I have forgotten the difference between near and far,

between the look and the line.

 

Is this going to have to be another translation?

 

Because the question I wanted to ask doesnít work in the present tense.

And this tree falling?

 

I cannot let this be a look, nor just a line.

 

Canít we make this a story about someone else?

In its current storm, the lightning will snap a white heat,

 

and eventually everyone else will only care

about the tree that was knocked down,

about the broken window and the flooding.

 

But inside the house we are still wondering if I meant one or two,

lost or found. Inside the house we are still wondering

if our map still fits the territory.

Always the flooding, and that tree still my secret.

 

 

PARALLEL

 

Early on autumn mornings,

itís hard to tell the difference

between a curled leaf on the Linden tree

outside my office window and:

a tucked mouse, a heart, a nuthatch,

the half-finished possibility of a nest.

 

My third childhood home

was on Linden street and its magic

was a camellia so overgrown it could hold

aloft the body of a five-year-old girl. She was:

a tucked mouse, a heart, a nuthatch,

the half-finished possibility of a nest.

 

Michelle Bailat-Jones, St. Legier, Switzerland

   


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