Kate Bremer I took down the sparkle-lines–Severe drought, Red Flag warningsFor two trees, for Faeries, for Light;Fill up water bottles and charge devices. Severe drought, Red Flag conditions–Jacob’s Well has dried up.Fill water bottles and charge devicesWhere’s the manna, the talking cloud ? Jacob’s Well has dried upFor two trees, for Faeries, for Light–Where’s the… Continue reading

Paul Cannon When the insistentdull roar of theworld reachesmurderous crescendoin my body,its long knives piercing,I take my wounded selfalong bush pathsfolding into nature,just for my soul,spice under my tongue,I hear the musicality,see the intricatebrush strokes, feelevery sheaf of poetrythat flutters orrustles nearby,and slowly Icome back intomy body. Paul Cannon is a poet who contemplates the… Continue reading

Kim Whysall-Hammond Bury it deep, weepif you need. Plead with yourself. Elseyou lose your mind. Discover what you can do. Youare a fluttering bird, who once flew. Take joy in a friend, end your despair, airyour burdened soul. Rollwith the glorious world. Unfurl. Kim Whysall-Hammond is a Londoner who now lives in the English countryside.… Continue reading

Audrey Howitt I tape over my cracked edges.The memoriesthe smellsthe wantingwhat I can’t have. There is always that.A hole I can’t fillthat pulls those edges apart.And every day, I sit in itlet it unfold me, just under the skinuntil the angles need mending again.I tell them it will be ok,that they will see the sunthe… Continue reading

Merril D. Smith Leaves, rain, night,a bullet-ripped child— so many things fall,are falling— the crows, black-winged tocsins,sound warnings, but it’sthe geese I observe— the parents still guardingtheir almost-grown goslings, the way they listen for the call to flythen take turns leading. I watch them soar,hear the wind-flap of their wings— I’m not starving, nor beaten,nor… Continue reading

Carol Anne Johnson The silence after stormis never clean—it hums with echoes,splinters of a voiceyou did not choose. You walk through it barefoot,collecting pieces,sometimes cutting yourselfon memories that refuseto dull. But healing does not ask for haste.It is the small, stubborn actof opening curtains to light,of naming the hurt aloud,of breathing despite the heavinesspressing on… Continue reading

Joshua Walker Storm after storm,I place buckets under the drips.The ceiling peels, the floor stains,but still—I catch the rain. Some nights I dance in the leak,bare feet slapping water,like I’m mocking the sky itself:is this all you’ve got? The roof will cave someday—fine.Until then, my buckets are thrones,and I sit crowned by persistence. Joshua Walker… Continue reading

Erica Johnson Frankly, I welcomed the bookas it took me and the sleepyblanket far from the humdrum town. Together we crunched on tacos,before peeling back the skinof a peach with our precarious pens. How were we to knowthat all we would find along the waywas a pack of stickers anda twirly yellow bubble wand“pause and… Continue reading