INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Patty Dickson Pieczka
Deji Adesoye
Michelle Bailet-Jones
Steve Barfield
Gale Acuff
Elisavietta Ritchie
Solomon Haruna
Aneek Chatterjee
Karyn M. Bruce
Robert Nisbet
Laszlo Slomvits
Y. Przhebelskaya
Running Cub
Alan Britt
Richard Gartee
Fahredn Shehu
Amit Parmressar
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c)
2021-22 Francis FerdeAll 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, editor
Silver Grey Fox, editing
Running Cub, reader
Fred Wolven, publisher
Submissions via e-mail:
small brights
Ice as thin as washi
paper covers the three hollows
where last year a wild cloud of cosmos rose from the earth, not on stems but
on thick stalks like rope.
Floating heads of fuchsia and white and pink againstan unflighted sky taking its first deep breath in many years.
Have you tipped a dead
cosmos flower into the cup
of your hand and shaken out the seeds? What little
slips of life, each one as slender as an eyelash.
The world can change
overnight, too. As fast
as the crystal-by-crystal ice that bridges the holes
in the earth made when I
pulled the stalks in October,
leaving each gaping den where the roots had nestled for months
to feed that floating city of petal and leaf and sky.
What I’m saying is ice
and faded blooms
and overnight and seeds that can vanish from a cupped hand.
Delicate, is what I’m
saying. Tenuous light and empty.
Go ahead, is what I’m saying. It took only the heat
of a single fingertip to melt and
crack that ice.
Michelle Bailat-Jones, St. Legier, Switzerland