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Two Poems by Lisa Boyce
Feathers and Silk
it used to be your chest was my pillow
temporarily of course – always temporarily –
you needed more space
said you couldn’t fall asleep
sweaty limbs tangled like sheets
while I – girl who sweats
through her shirts
when it’s 30 degrees out
– wanted
onlytobecloser
devised a way to get nearer to your heart
dreamed of cracking open your chest
so I could crawl inside
be at the center of it all
sometimes if I squeeze my eyes tight enough
the pillow I am holding
becomes your chest
– but softer –
it does not smell like you
– roast chicken and orchids –
I burrow deeper
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“Long Vacation” by Jake Bauer
I am a person in need of a very
long vacation to a very cold climate.
There, one can ski out onto
the ice which is actually
a frozen-over cup of water
waiting on the nightstand
of a thief after a quick job. A boy
had to die. The world is big
then it is diamond-small
and you slip it in your pocket
on your way out the door, thinking
I’ll need this later.*
Jake Bauer is the Marketing Director for Saturnalia Books.
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“Bird” by Jenna Le
We heard her and came running
We heard her
wings blurred
We heard her fly up the metal chute
only to find herself self-entrapped in our laundry room
self-buried in our linen hoard
her exit route barred
We heard her throat burr
We heard her
wings blurred so we came running
feet bare on the red-carpeted stairs
We heard her so we herded her
We harried her toward an opened window, a soft sunlit square
amid the hard boards
We hurried her and harried her
and herded her toward the open air
our broom-waving horde must have seemed to her a horror
for all that we heralded her liberty
*
Jenna Le authored Six Rivers (NYQ Books, -
Two poems by Allan Popa (translated from the Filipino by Bernard Capinpin) Artwork by Lorina Tayag Capitulo
Narrative
I wish to be a monk
is what I often tell anyone
whom I want to befriend.The kind that doesn’t show himself to others
for solitude is prayer.I would not be surprised if they mention
that a dream not far from my own
had once entered their minds.If it had been in the aisle of a monastery where we
had first met, perhaps, we would have paused togetherat a single bead of a mystery we recited on our way
back to each of our own cells at the corner
to bow for a moment as a recognitionthat we have already met
although it is only our hands that can be seen. -
Five micro-poems by Margarita Serafimova (translated from the Bulgarian) Photography by Milen Neykov
L’éternel retour
(Eternal Return)An animal I am when I love you,
and above my face, an aureole of cosmic bodies is spinning –
ringed planets; a star’s glint.
***
L’éternel retour
(Вечното завръщане)Животно съм, когато те обичам,
а над лицето ми се върти ореол от космически тела –
планети с пръстени; отблясък на звезда.
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“Between Grief and Nothing” by Linnea Nelson
What interests me takes place in the interval
between two people.
For example, one halfinch from your human body,
I can feel the heat of your life
without touching you.Nothing I learned in school
is as essential as that.
Or that the reverse is true.Or that, between grief and nothing,
there is a broad, bright space.
What happens to me alonenever seems important. Last week,
the dusk draped heavily
on the valley was beautiful,
