Ann Arbor Review

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

Alica Mathias

Michael Lee Johnson

Vyarka Kozareva

Silvia Scheibli

Richard Gartee
Fahredn Shehu
Amit Parmressar

John Grey
Shutta Crum

Jennifer Burd
Kushal Perusal

Fred Wolven

Stephen Sleboda

Denis Robillard

Alex Ferde



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:

poetfred@att.net
 


 

 

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 Iím saying is ice and faded blooms
and overnight and seeds that can vanish from a cupped hand.

Delicate, is what Iím saying. Tenuous light and empty.
Go ahead, is what Iím saying. It took only the heat
of a single fingertip to melt and crack that ice.

 

 

Michelle Bailat-Jones, St. Legier, Switzerland

 

   


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