for Quinton (Q) Duval By Mary Zeppa Spy the cloud in the shape of Q's quarter moon. Spy the silver-blue, fit-for-kings cloud. Spy King Q the First in his chariot, drawn by oxen as blue as their blood. * Such angels as I knew left me bemused, limp by the side of the road. Q knew them all, knew the names of their dogs, ran with the heavenly crowd. * Flower by the river road, wild-river flower crushed by the heel of a child rescued by Q for his buttonhole. Hand-to-hand combat with God. Previously published in Poetry Now |
Puddle by Allyson Seconds |
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GREEN IN MCKINLEY PARK WHERE ANNIE AND I WALK By Mary Zeppa From a bench by the duck pond, we ogle the promenade: dads, moms and grandmas tote goggle-eyed babies (sleek, bobbing heads all done up in pink ribbons). Little boys strut in their buckaroo hats. Tall-man-on-green-bank readies his camera, lens set to take-it-all-in. Suddenly, hurtling over the grass, man-on-a-bicycle clatters up next to us. Calls out, "Ladies! Will you watch my bike?" (As he turns to look back over his shoulder, his long, auburn braid taps his waist.) "I'm waiting for the mother," he adds. "Sure," we say, looking around for her. Thinking a woman (maybe our age, grey-haired, leaning hard on a cane). But "There she is!" he shouts, looking up as a mother duck lands on the pond. He bids us look into his tall, plastic wastebasket, out of which, in a fuzzy cuddle-close bundle, four ducklings gaze dizzily up. "They were crossing the street. She must have thought they could keep up." He lowers the waste basket (gently, so gently) on its side to the green sloping bank. Out they wriggle, then hustle, then quick-step, then splash: and away they go, swimming expertly. They disappear. They've swum for cover, nestle somewhere in the reeds. No death today. Not in this park where Annie and I, Mondays, walk. |
Monet Pond by Katy Brown |
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"MY LITTLE APHRODITE"
By Mary Zeppa Aphrodite born nubile, born flawless and rosy from loins of castrated god. Aphrodite born rising from ocean, from Botticelli's sweet mind. You murmuring, "My little Aphrodite." Me floating naked in an icy stream. To Eve and Adam, we were distant cousins. Too many generations, long removed. But innocence, I think, was still the point: our sins washed clean by all that icy water, our lives had mercy: they began again. |
 Mary Zeppa |
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