INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Fahredin Shehu
Elisavietta Ritchie
Uvie Gwewhegbe
Jennifer Burd
George Miller
Robert Penick
Laszlo Slomovits
Richard Gartee
Gale Acuff
Stephen Sleboda
Robert Nisbet
Chris Spitters
Silvia Scheibli
Michael Lee Johnson
Alicia Mathias
Alan Britt
Y. Przhebelskaya
Helen Gyigya
Aneek Chatterjee
Alex Ferde
Running Cub
Joanie Freeman
Shutta Crum
Fred Wolven
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2020
Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
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AAR history note: in print 1967 - 1980. Irregular publications 1980 - 2004. As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 55 years all together....
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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
Submissions via e-mail:
border territories
Clearing the
table of dishes tonight,
I candled my hand against a flame.
In these narrowed days I light
constellations of white pillars
at each sundown, devising beams
of steady radiance where I can.
Backlit, I saw vein and webbing,
my flesh the color of a hot unclouded sun.
A reminder that places of emptiness
will let through the light.
Like all things,
a candle has a lexicon;
I do not know it. I know only that I
have studied the border territories
of yellow to gold inside
the teardrop of the flame.
I know only that if you whisper
a finger over the ghostly heat spiral
rising from the incandescence, you will burn.
I know best the wickfeather, where
the fire is hemmed and circled
by the press of air at its edges.
Beware this delicate place,
where we are most at risk
of breath and gale and end.
Michelle Bailat-Jones, St. Legier, Switzerland