by Lea Ehret
To a Passer-By
The street about me roared with a deafening sound
Tall, slender, in heavy mourning, majestic grief,
A woman passed, with a glittering hand
Raising, swinging the hem and flounces of her skirt;
Agile and graceful, her leg was like a statue's.
Tense as in a delirium, I drank
From her eyes, pale sky where tempests germinate,
The sweetness that enthralls and the pleasure that kills.
A lightning flash... then night! Fleeting beauty
By whose glance I was suddenly reborn,
Will I see you no more before eternity?
Elsewhere, far, far from here! too late! never perhaps!
For I know not where you fled, you know not where I go,
O you whom I would have loved, O you who knew it!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
My voice is STRONG AND LOUD
My Light is RESILIENT and BRIGHT
My Mind is INNOVATIVE and SHARP
I too know why the caged bird sings.
by LaTasha Price
by LaTasha Price
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
The Genesis of Retro-Futurism (The Past)
by Josie Calamari
Okay for you, Charles,
whose belly tipped the balance again, fell off into your self,
and left us forever without a woman.
There she was—some kind of skirt, some kind of grief, some kind of agile
marble leg and glittering hand,
and there you were in all your glory, in your rapture, your distress,
your constant bloody ennui, your passion.
You drama queen, flâneur,
killed by a single glance,
looking for somewhere else, again,
looking past, beyond, through.
You used her.
You drank from you, and still do.
Yet, in the hereness of it all, I still feel,
coulda been good, you know,
by Kevin M. Leander
by Mary Miller
I let the moments slink by as we sat together on the couch. Finally I said your name. Pointing to your hands, I observed that you were tense. Fists clenching, eyes watering, you turned your gaze from the poster on the wall to my face. Taking your movement as a foothold for conversation, I recounted your numerous headaches and backaches, pains which seemed to have no cause nor cure. I thought aloud how maybe, just maybe, you were holding all your anger in your body and it was hurting you. A spark of agreement flickered on your face and your furrowed brow straightened. You stared down at your hands, opened your fists, and wiggled your fingers. Slowly releasing your breath, you settled into the softness of the overstuffed couch for the first time.
Tight and tense fists clenched
Your body holding anger
Open palms release
Sunny like your disposition
I love your shoes.
Why thank you!
Do you see me as a woman?
Of course. Aren't you?
Normally I don't pass.
I see you as you are.
How's the walking in heels going?
I've got it down-pat.
Do they have them in large sizes?
I got them on clearance a few months back.
Have you checked out TJ Maxx?
I love TJ Maxx.
I'm Anna Catherine, by the way.
Like your disposition?
I hadn't thought of that!
But I guess so.
by Mary Beth Hayes
I spoke as I speak to a stranger.
She, once familiar; here, strange.
she and I spoke on darkened docks.
by Joe Johnson