Spelling Down
By Ellen McGrath SmithI wanted bad to advance to Washington, D. C.
I wanted to be anyone but me.
The nun who had trained me for the spelling bee
needed a ride, and I was so worried all the way across town
Search Results
bitter crop
By Kelli Stevens Kaneblueberry blackberry as always
bleeding, back road or boulevard,
our boy crowned with baton,
Certain Seams
By Jill KhouryThe boy across the street points at me and lisps—now I know what they mean in books when they say children lisp. He wears a red and white striped t-shirt, addresses my friend who walks beside me. I ask people to please walk on my left side. It’s the eye that’s not completely dead I say. They always move over.
Political Soundtrack
By Brian FanelliEvery Sunday, I came dressed in punk rocker black,
checkered pants, steel-toed Docs.
No tie dye on me when I joined
Stewing
By DaMaris B. HillI dream of hounds. Their teeth loose in my veins.
Their howls consume me. They growl and feast.
She whispers not to run. I can't refrain.
Sunday Afternoon as Oil Pours into the Gulf
By Elliott batTzedekAcross a small suburban lawn
a very large man is riding
a very large tractor mower
Zen of Tipping
By Jan BeattyMy friend Lou
used to walk up to strangers
and tip them - no, really -