Poem
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Flood
Erica Johnson It wasn’t until I noticed the dog walkers returningfrom the singular trail ahead of methat I discovered there might be trouble at the turn –a flooded path blocking any progress forward. Cautious, I paused my walktaking a seat upon a rock half-warmedby the weakened winter sun whichhad itself been washed out for several… Continue reading
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On a Pale Horse
Rachel Armes-McLaughlin They were going door to dooron a pale horsein Minneapolis. The largest raid ever,boasts the bloated king. But you know thisbetter than any. Just the first day –one weekinto this fresh new hell – and you were shotfor taking a video. What did she saywhen they shot you, dove? Stuffed animal, air bag,her… Continue reading
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Get Your Copy: “Record of Dissent” Is Now Available in Paperback
After months of reading, curating, editing, and wrangling files into formats they did not want to be in, I’m proud to say that Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age is now available in print. You can order a copy online through IngramSpark, Bookshop.org, Barnes & Noble, BookPeople, Alibris, or ask your local indie bookseller to… Continue reading
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Emerging from the Penumbra
Merril D. Smith In scant light, slant light, shadows strollabove the bones unseen,remains of scattered, shattered lives,Glory, Hallelujah, we used to sing. Was this then, or is this now?The truth is marching on–torn, twisted, and trampledin scant, slant light as shadows stroll, as masked men menace, muscled maraudersfrom obscurity troll in the scant, slant light… Continue reading
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What We Tend
Meridith Allison The long and short of it is,I’d rather not be listening to a podcastabout how democracies dieas I pull weeds on a Saturday morningwhile the American flag on my neighbor’s porchflaps loudly in the wind. But this much I know: summer remembers both the gardenerand the absence of one. The long and short of it… Continue reading
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Keep Going
Rachel Armes-McLaughlin Small twigs on the pavementlook like so many tiny bones—phalanges and miniature fibulae. Underfoot, they roll, still freshenough that they do not crack.There is a me-sized bowl in the earth ahead near the creek—a womb-like hollow that Idesperately long to crawl inside. I keep going, keenly aware thatso many others walk with mein… Continue reading
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Untitled
Kate Bremer What year is it? Sunday?What’s the donkey’s name;Why is she wearing orange slippers?Draw a Kit Kat Klock–her Krazy eyesAnd rigid plastic tail are mine. Drinking water, Meals on Wheels;I won’t write about killing children(or adults) in GazaUkraine, Salvador. FirstThey took the Venezuelans.Can you pass a Medicare testIf you are steeped in conspiracy–A member… Continue reading
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Echoes
Patricia J McLean I’m at the edge of a cliff looking over,looking over at the cracks in the rock onthe other side. I’m at the cliff edgewhere time stretches, arcs back-forward,ages stacked on ages bent, arched,tilted, earth colors, life, death, beginning, end. I’m at the edge of the cliff. I imagine I can seethe other… Continue reading
The Chaos Section Poetry Project 