From the Print

Ghetto Ritual

“For Protection” he says smearing goop across my forehead. My father is a sculptor, And I am the wax figure he created. With the help of his rough working hands, On my face, he layers-on a sheet of Vaseline. Staring…

Simone (“Poupette”) Alizon

1 Poupette was no coquette, no French flirt. At seventeen she pedaled her velo from one end of Paris to the farther other, delivering news of the Résistance to the Résistance. Brave, yes. Foolish? Perhaps not— A pretty girl who…

What We Were

When the last ship vanished into the sky, afterburners flickering briefly in the dense black cloud ceiling that shrouded our world, there were fires. There were more of us then, and we poured, angry, through the streets, a human pyroclastic…

Pasado’s Grave

For once, we aren’t late. The kids keep asking me if we are, but I am able to assure them, we are fine, we’re right on time. I know this place. We just need to park in the big lot…

Amateur Hands

I’m nowhere near finished with grading the poems when I lock up my room for the night. It’s almost eleven. Somewhere another door slams. The space between lockers swells with a draft whose source is unknown. It carries the scent…

But Did You Listen To All Those Stories?

All my life I tilled the fields by myself and nobody helped me. Your grandfather was always inventing ways to help someone else: he built houses, ran electricity, fixed power outages, took pictures, showed films, repaired TVs and radios, fixed…

The Establishment

I enter a room that isn’t ready for me It acts like I wasn’t even invited The jobless horse goes around No job No job  No job Now that’s something to celebrate I find a sound chair & take it home