The Multiplying Grave: A Poem
The trail's arch just weeks ago
began in such firm dignity.
The Tennessee Twister: A Poem
"Yesterday, we had a nice brick house and four vehicles.
Today, we don't own a toothbrush."
Susan Henry
Mossy Grove, Tennessee
The Waiting Room: A Poem
I pull at my husband's arm
as if that tug will tether
a strand of my hair to a braid.
The Lost & Found: A Poem
The Lost Boys removed
from the coffin's lip like
tea cups stuck to a saucer
The FBI Chaplain Stops By: A Poem
With folded hands but answerless.
The Zeinhom Morgue: A Poem
Cairo to Luxor. Islam's biggest feasting hour.
The Paralyzed Apocalypse: A Poem
Our posit on a curled hook, hanging straight like slaughtered beef in lockers of our chosen chill. Our sins and organs all contained. The cows had no choice. And I lament our still lives on their way to death. We shut down music in the mid-stream of a song. (Unwind, is all) we often say. …
Gutter Balls: A Poem
The bottle stops the clock.
A Literary Call to Arms
As human beings and writers, we are questioning the power of ink in altering the headline news. Some editors and publishers consider a literary call to arms a prerequisite, a necessary step in the global healing process; others find it a tacky, trite, and opportunistic maneuver toward personal publicity, rather like dressing up bloodshed for …
Rushing Toward Entelechy: A Poem
Come sit with me, in valleys
of my shoulder blades,
whistle something in my ear