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STARLINGS
by Sean Lause At dawn, they punctuate the snow with their message of betrayal, these coarse-looking birds, abandoned by Fall. Not one wind weaves them a shawl of comfort. The sun brings no reprieve. At noon, they sit in pairs, too heavy with cold for flight. They plummet like discarded angels to snatch the tossed bread with quick and icy beaks. Sometimes, if hungry enough, they will tear at each other's throats over a disputed shred, rolling round and over each other like drunken cowboys. And yet they endure, these dark scars on the landscape, contemptuous of the prudish redbird, the raucous jay, as they huddle for warmth on a factory chimney, as bristled and stubborn as old shop brooms. At night, they turn the gaunt elm to a score of music that enchants the silence, a sweetness that comes from nowhere in their lives, as the moon’s blistered eye lengthens their shadows into darkness. |
BEACH HUT by Myles Boisen |
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by Simon Perchik As if its nest is too shallow this branch tests for rocks the way streams are nourished by some sea whose roots still reach out for shoreline and stars already drinking from the night sky —you wait for the nest to rise though what flows past is the tree is the time it takes its leaves not yet the waves spreading across broken apart for echoes and edges that need a place to grow beside ripen into birdcalls that all along die in no ones arms, die in the black smoke poured over them and every sunset now gropes for the twigs it left behind as fruit and listening —you settle in unable to dry or promise it anything that breathes, that sings or children. |
VIENNA by Myles Boisen |
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THE NEEDLE
by John Abbott Night after night She questions him About his biggest fear, And he holds back, Not wanting to explain How he felt certain He'd step on a needle inflicted With the virus, Maybe in a park, Or crossing a parking lot, Or maybe just walking To the corner for a newspaper. It's ridiculous, sure, but He heard it happened once And even if it was Only urban legend, He can't shake the notion Or keep from walking with His head down, a practice Which will affect his confidence Over time; even now As he lays in her bed, He finds it difficult To look her In the eye, And he can feel Their connection unraveling Or perhaps compression Into something pointed, Yet impossible to see. |
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