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


by Beth Suter

the log cabin, like a child's
drawing of a wish

a long-gone elm
leans toward its loss

it shelters a pelican
blown up from the Gulf

transported by a force
too big to comprehend

she's still there
looking back at herself

LOOKING BACK by Brent Wiggans

LOOKING BACK by Brent Wiggans

by P.M.F. Johnson

The soul when
pressed can snap
open much like
a suitcase lock,
fingers bruised
in flight or
on a cruise.
Often we find it
best to deny
what's unseen.
Turn in. Claim a rest.
Who really needs
to understand?
The dismissive smile.
The shrug of mean.

by John Zedolik

The hasps of March
have swung, knocking
the rust of winter

to shake down in silent
flecks, bit mirrors
to the struggling

sunshine, small patens
yielding gold and diamond
if we are lucky but light

regardless of the sky's
disposition so as good
as that precious metal

in this bending time
of wind and chill yet
hope that flies in with

the rush, leaving us
helpless to resist
even if we wanted,

by some perverse pull
to back out and turn back
as if the rust still clung

silent and inert,
leaving the air to its
own flat design.

POR TODOS LAS MANOS by Ruben Briseno Reveles

POR TODOS LAS MANOS by Ruben Briseno Reveles

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