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


by Milton P. Ehrlich

Increasingly forgetful,
my friend can't remember
who he is or where he is
as he gets lost in heroic reveries.

He's convinced he has a gun,
but it's just his extended
forefinger and upright thumb.

Whenever he passes a bank,
he practices pointing his gun
at a smiling guard at the door
who thinks he's just saying, "Hi!"

A Korean War veteran,
he thinks he held back
the Chinese at the Yalu River,
allowing his company to retreat
while he manned a Browning
.50 caliber machine gun,
like the hero in his favorite movie:
"Guadalcanal Diary."

When it grows dark
on late afternoons,
he points his gun
at his head, pulls the trigger
and swears he can see light
shining through the hole.

WADI SHAB by Baxter Jackson

WADI SHAB by Baxter Jackson

by Jason Dean Arnold

He coaxes fire, shapes it
in small gestures
as meditation
as medicine.

Misremembered fiction

we must search alone
for the miraculous

portraits of infinite space.
There is so much blood
in & around us,
I'm unable
to convince myself
of dreaming & I know
the river will hold me
the river will hold me
the river will hold me
in place long enough
to see me clearly.

DESERT BLOOM by Sophia Ewing

DESERT BLOOM by Sophia Ewing

by Michael Lee Johnson

Out of this poem
grows a little desert flower.
it is blue sorrow
it waits for your return.
You escape so you must from me
refuge, folded, wrapped in cool spring rain leaves—
avoiding July, August heat.
South wind hellfire burns memories within you,
branded I tattoo you, leave my mark,
in rose barren fields fueled with burned and desert stubble.
Yet I wait here, a loyal believer throat raw in thirst.
I wrest thunder gods gathering ritual-prayer rain.
It is lonely here grit, tears rub my eyes without relief.
Yet I catch myself loafing away in the wind waiting fate
to whisper those tiny messages
writer of this storm welded wings,
I go unnoticed but the burned eyes of red-tailed hawk
pinch of hope, sheltered by the doves.
I tip a toast to quench your thirst,
one shot of Tequila my little, purple, desert flower.

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