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


by Timothy Pilgrim

She apologized for her affair,
confessed need to see

new men every year
or two or three,

asked tearfully for a metaphor.
He said love is a purple orchid

arcing down in morning sun
from high planter in solarium.

A wilted orchid.
Hanging at daybreak.

Frozen by Lynn Crounse

FROZEN by Lynn Crounse

by John Grey

The more I love her in absentia,
the more I hate myself.
To drive the adored away
is to hone feeling into an arrow head
and plunge it into my chest.

I sit here in the kitchen
sipping cold coffee
and staring out the window.
I'm like a Christian waiting to be martyred
or a soldier about to go over the hill.

My grief begs to disagree with the songbirds.
And if I wrong the warm, bright sun I'm sorry.
But I recycle everything into sorrow.
A new day's just a patchwork of the old.

My thoughts will whip me
like a cat-o-nine-tails.
My tongue will loudly curse
the use I put it to.
I will rip myself raw,
invoke every cruel tool
this side of slaughter.

And then I will wait
until her self-hate rages,
ousts her anger.
I will make more coffee,
stare out more windows,
wait for her return.

Photograph by Kyle Hemmings

FACT/DIS by Kyle Hemmings

by Stephanie Anne Williams

Singsong wisps meet wordless chugs, stealing
Bloody the apparition that creates death, alight—
Quantum trysts that mark the days between rue
And silence, the chasm closed, somehow steely,
Breath and bite murdered at witch's tug

But she bathes in her youth, making splash and
Kerosene lift toward the burn, the magic red in
Her eyes— and with a clunk of her lid, pull
Of her brow, she feasts, nibbling, on spells, and
Croaks brillig on charms

Cloaked maniacal hex, chipped tooth, politely
Dressed in gauze— smashed foul amber click,
Clack, exchange of brute for sinner's smudge,
Scarlet mark deemed viper flash, cast on
Cauldrons, demigod ache

And these, these candy-coated words, the trite
Wound of language, preciosa— carved in still-life
Apertures and overtures of mixed fruit, coiling
Eternally, like the magma queen you were,
Dipped in apathy, the only "He" to ever whirl—
And turn, and care, pilfered in light smirk.

1   |  2   |  3   |  4   |  5

home   |  Table of Contents   |  archive