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


by Bill Freedman

I have rescued a canary by adoption,
who worked many years in the coal mines.
Like a greyhound who has lost too many races,
she was tagged for termination if not adopted.
I find her useful.
Responding to vibrations,
she trills full volume, frantically,
when the postman approaches the box outside.
Sometimes I am on the porch
when he is only on the walk,
shaking his head and smiling,
wondering how I knew.
A little late for a few dozen miners,
but she's got the hang of it now.

PHOTOGRAPH by Allyson Seconds

PHOTOGRAPH by Allyson Seconds

by Ann Privateer

through uncut grass
naked toes comb strands
squish mud oozing
over each digit

bare speech
steps up to circle
above our heads
footing infinity

feet finally rest pointing to nude.

by Andrew Aulino

Marsh, forest, city;
the land between these two coasts are
germinate with bone—the doe, the fox.
Under all Tidewater
oak beams and wool erupt
in muddy fecundity
to bear generations of reed,
bloody green on the surface.

We peninsular
are kin to all this growth
skeins of the sensual
we love cold slaps of river-wind;
how our hair in summer
turns lank as heated copper;
swamp nitre nettles the septum;
mud; elvers turn in a placental shallow,
birth with afterbirth.
Separate boughs
mat together, a
crowd living on
three hundred years' gathering-place;
we are each a yes, and all yes.

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