c o n v e r g e n c e:
an online journal of poetry & art


by AJ Urquidi

an ancient tv set
rests at the park's dirt edge:
void display confronting
polychromatic playground
production, innards
resounding with mock
buccaneer calls,
summer mothers' yells
diverted from handheld
performances to blanch the caged
static echo of one
last dwindling sign-off.

on a hump of weeds
the set's face slants like the cocked
mind of a curious
spaniel, as though out here
it's finally able
to observe the unwinding
scenes its screen
created—impervious to bouncing
strikes of young
and foreign signals—able to watch
in resignation
its once-framed world
wax digital.

SLEEPY HOLLOW by Stephanie Lakos

SLEEPY HOLLOW by Stephanie Lakos

by Jason Dean Arnold

My phone lies to me,
Tells me what it thinks
I need to know now.
Aggregated data on
What I should buy,
What I should see,
Based on millions
Of people like me;
But, I don't believe it.
It predicts the weather
Or so it claims.
Eleanor and I wait inside
For the unpredicted rain
To finally stop
So she can ride her bike.
She notifies me
Of the movement
Of the dark clouds
And changes in light.
Her updates shake
The routine of age,
A comfort in silence.
We resign ourselves
To a game of catch
In the living room,
Which makes her smile.
I take a few photos
With my lying phone
As she wraps her arms
Around the large green ball,
Pulling it close.
Her father's been dead
Almost a week now.
I wish the weather
Would change,
Just this once.
Eventually, it will stop.
But, for now,
It's still raining outside.
Inside, Eleanor is ready,
Wearing purple shoes.

SONOMA COAST by Jeanine Stevens

SONOMA COAST by Jeanine Stevens

by Simon Perchik

And though these stones all night
come from the same fountain
they still clear the sky

for hillsides and what overflows
they carry back as the distance
that takes forever to dry

—it must be raining inside
where every stone you hold
has slope to it, falls face up

the way once there were two skies
—that's right! two horizons
two mornings and the sun that's left

is still looking for the other
though in the darkness
you hear your arms folding

—even without wings the Earth
almost remembers growing huge
lit and this endless rain

has always depended on it, the rest
is lost, calling out from your hand
and even further off.

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