Ann Arbor Review


Gerald Clark
Lyn Lifshin
Paul B. Roth
Ndue Ukaj
Anne Babson
Laszlo Slomovits
Qinqin Huang
Duane Locke
Adhar Maheshwari
Shutta Crum
Odimegwu Onwumere
Anthony Seidman
Chris Lord
Running Cub
Amit Parmessur
John F. Buckley &
Martin Otto

Joanie Freeman
Alan Britt
Jennifer Burd &
Laszlo Slomovits

Sonnet Mondal
Karyn M. Bruce
John Tustin
Jennifer Burd
Michael Gessner &
Daniel Davis

Martin Camps &
Anthony Seidman

Fred Wolven

Holly Day

M. J. Iuppa
John Grochalski
Catherine O'Brien
Joe Milford
Byron Matthews
Joseph Murphy
Dike Okoro

Steve Barfield






Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2012 Fred Wolven
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida


Fred Wolven, editor

Submissions via e-mail:



(for my brother, Sandor)

Halfway down the hill, in front of our house,
shoveling snow off the sidewalk after school,
my twin brother and I, full of teenage energy,
talking as much as shoveling, some snowballs
mixed in too, and the early dark coming on.

And then he straightened up like an animal
hearing an unfamiliar sound, though I heard
none, his eyes alert, looking inward at something
I did not see, and then said calmly "Let's go in"
but so forcefully I did not ask a question.

Like a boat whose engine has been cut, time
started slowing, drifting towards an unknown
shore.  Inside, we stood by the bay window
and looked out.  Time put down its anchor
and stopped.  A truck came down the hill,

fishtailed out of control, slid onto the cleaned
sidewalk, grazed the maple in the front yard,
swerved back onto the road and continued on.
Time slowly turned around, began moving
away from that rocky shore, out to the open

sea again.  We did not say anything to each other
or anyone else--not then, not later, just went on.
But today, some fifty years later, I still wonder
at my brother, and thank him now for knowing
enough to listen to what he knew and didn't know.


Laszlo Slomovits, Ann Arbor



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