Dead Boys I Have Known: Joshua Kidd / Joanna Grant

d. September 2018, Bossier City, Louisiana

Back at Osan in Korea, they warned us—
Eyes on the swivel, blend in with locals.

As if you could at six foot six, silky
Shock of blond hair, skin pale as milk.

Oh, how you’d turn all the small, dark heads
As you peacocked down the Ville, flexing every

Time you caught a glimpse of your own reflection.
Jacked on pre-workout, you’d drive me to distraction—

With your smart mouth, your wit, your volcanic temper,
You were so hard to teach. So quick to anger,

But so, so goddamn charming. So, I’d laugh and forgive.
Golden boy, force of nature, of course you would live

Forever and ever, world at your feet, untouchable.
Until you weren’t. Until you left the peninsula,

All its rules, its warnings, the PSAs, the good advice,
To set up home with your new wife, to start your lives.

Till one autumn suburban dawn, when
Two baby-faced kids, minors, just children,

Tried to steal your car. That temper again.
The car thieves ran. You chased after them.

And then, one of the baby faces pulled out a gun.
I tell myself—at least you knew you had a son.

The thief who fired? Now, she’s doing fifty to life.
The neighbors ran to help your baby and your wife.

And now—what to make of it all. This America, this country
Your father served, sweet half-orphaned little baby boy,

Swears it loves its children, its innocents, just
Like it thinks it loves beauty. Or duty. Or service.

My advice to you, my Josh’s fatherless son:
Fly away, like he did. But never come home.

Sotto voce /  Judit Hollos

war-torn theatre
turned into a bomb shelter –
entangled shadows
of bare branches carve their fight
into the midnight asphalt

sotto voce
raindrops crocheting
the barbed wire

the ruins of a
maternity hospital
seeded with sunrays
all those eons survivors
carry their unborn dreams

reverse waterfall
a daughter’s wish to go back
to her mother’s womb

Untitled / Zach Jauptman

sketch a beautiful day:
you are on the beach
the sun is out
there is a woman
she is in a swimsuit

is that all beauty is
comfort, unthreatening
a sun that warms but never burns
a woman that smiles
but she speaks in the sound of the surf

there is a woman
you are on a beach
she is wearing a swimsuit
and so are you
is her swimsuit beautiful
or is yours
is there a woman to beautify
your beach

you are on a beach
there is a woman
you are in a swimsuit
the sun is out
it is beautiful

thirty thirty / Brice Maiurro

such small things consume big life: first time witnessing death / at the top of the hill / a colony of carpenter ants / feeding on the corpse of a freshly dead rattlesnake /

–

the awe of immediacy: as the last snow slowly drains returning to its mother river / the winter jasmine arrives like a surprise / no warning / no slow dance / sudden spring starbursts

–

soft sacred geometry: tiny black dog curls up on a pillow by the window beneath moonlight in the big black sky / crescent moon / curved the same / seeking comfort in darkness

–

the tragedy of longing: mimosa plant leans against the summer window / seeking bigger communion with the sun / the sun wanders elsewhere / the cold snap strikes down the mimosa’s bravest leaves

–

beyond the reach of science: poet plays her flute on the hill in the park / breath moves through the wood / the wind plays along with her / rustling in the trees

–

a grief that i can handle: again i walk to the neighborhood corner store / on the way i check the cherry tree for cherries / none yet / okay / so i wait

–

acknowledging transition: s takes j to daycare / he cries as i put him in his carseat / i wave & say goodbye kiddo / i’ll see you later / tears cease from smiling eyes

–

the grace of second chances: the forgotten onion turns / aging in the shadowy kitchen corner / green stalks rise in its second life / we nurture its rebirth in a terracotta pot

–

chaos breeding creation: the cat stomps unexpectedly across the piano keys / the pianist throws out the sheet music / plays back what he heard / a tune as original as the moment

–

like the tortoise & the hare: the red maserati gridlocked in rush hour traffic / the blue ninety-five schwinn blows by between the two lanes / cool summer wind in the rider’s face

–

we see the channel we’re on: the hungry lifeguard takes his long overdue break / eats his cheerios alone in the breakroom / a thousand golden buoys floating in the white water

–

death is everywhere we look: three hundred young years into its story / the cedar tree begins to bend / in its old age it leans upon the cedar fence beside it

–

actions create reactions: the cat wanders into the garden / the squirrels chatter at the meandering cat / the dog barks at the chattering squirrels / quiet the human shouts at the dog

–

musings about the unknown: a human riding his bike / blue sky / the clouds gaze down upon him / wow / the clouds whisper to one another / that one looks like a dragon

–

awe is one language we share: in the bight of bonny / in the gulf of guinea / the earth pulses every twenty-six seconds / during a storm her heart beats even faster

–

overwhelm of absolutes: my favorite color / green i’d say the color of life / oh but the living blue ocean / & the heavy reds & soft purples / & why would you ask me this

–

the hope, the remaining pain: soon after the california fires / rise the california fire poppies / pushing triumphantly through the black ash / this healing takes time though / time we’ve sold already

–

a little more about time: the battery in my watch died / both of the hands stopped working / all of a sudden i had all of the time in the world

–

about electricity: does the darkness ever look through the window at night / to see us still communing with the light / a dog out in the cold / scratching at the door

–

blessings sent to the future: now i know how my grandmother got so many wrinkles on her beautiful hands / holding my mother holding me holding my son holding tomorrow

–

went left at the fork today: a new path / i recognized all the rock faces the streams & the birdsongs / i’ve been here i said / echo sang back / i’ve been here

–

& the moon obviously: the poets are always going on about the moon / it’s not our fault / she commands it of us / won’t let us sleep until we sing to her

–

& the moon again of course: half moon always finds me in the midst of my human conundrums / giant rice bowl in the sky / leaving me hungry for more / or less

–

the quiet of the boondocks: you can see so many stars out here / a person can really hear themselves think away from the noise of the city / it’s absolutely terrifying

–

good omens & bad omens: some people step on all of the cracks in the sidewalk / some people avoid them like the plague / maybe the calling is not to rigidity / but balance

–

just a love poem for my love: when i write i am always writing with you here beside me / even if you’ve wandered to the dark side of the moon

–

& if you’re lost on the dark side: of the moon, i will not rest until i write a second sun into existence to light your way back home to me

–

about xenophilia: does spring ever wonder what it would be like to lay down beside the fall / does the winter ever wish to give a warm kiss to the summer

–

such small things consume big life: a garden of love is built on exquisite conflict / it’s the weeds that you refuse to pull that stop your biggest roses from growing

–

& one more time for the moon: if i die during daylight / please still come to visit me / if you can’t make it to my window / i hope my spirit comes to you

last day of classes april 2025  / Kimberly O’Connor

chaos gathers like  

clouds on the mountain 

fragments of language build and blacken 

like trees blossoming  

my students sit watching 

while time passes like the wind as it whips trash into 

swirls of crumpled paper the rain  

stretching to now christening us 

time quickens as we say good-bye to 

various futures 

 the words we shared  

unfold 

a lungful of dust  

until time is up 

last day of classes april 2025  / Kimberly O’Connor

chaos gathers like  
clouds on the mountain 
fragments of language
build and blacken 
like trees blossoming  
my students sit watching 
while time passes like
the wind as it whips trash into 
swirls of crumpled paper
the rain  
stretching to now
christening us 
time quickens as
we say good-bye to 
various futures 
the words we shared  
unfold 
a lungful of dust  
until time is up 

A Love Poem  / Michael Schad

The ocean is vast, 
our love is not;

it is not overwhelming
or unknowable; 

its depths do not go on forever
and when ships set sail – they return. 

Our love is like the Great South Bay, 

contained and protected by Fire Island, 
yet still unknown, and yet always present.

The salty smells, the evening breeze,
the sounds of seagulls roaming the sky, 

A reminder of steadiness 
which holds no comparison. 

The Body’s Orchard / Kashinna Singh

They told me memory is stored in neurons.
I laughed.
Have they never felt
The hush of turmeric root
Reciting prayers to its twin buried in a jar of pickles?

My great-grandfather never learned to read,
But his hands knew
How to graft a mango tree
So it bore fruit in drought years.

That knowing—
that bone-born scripture—
spreads like fungal lace
Through the dirt of my body.I speak in tongues of cumin and corrosion,
Grow stories in spores.
When I close my eyes,
My ancestors don’t appear—
They bloom.

No Breakfast for You / Elizabeth Wade

Sad Girl waited almost 20 minutes
before slipping out the back of the barn
headed for the house. She walked around
the wintering garden, so her cheeks were a tad
rosy, and it looked like she had just
arrived from somewhere else.

She walked into the kitchen and froze.
Brody’s mom was at the stove, making
pans and pans of breakfast. Brody sat
at the table with a steaming mug of coffee.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,”
chirped his mother. “Little Orphan Annie.”

Sad Girl winced inwardly. At least she hoped
it didn’t show. “Good morning.”

“You’re out and about early,” said Brody’s mother.
“I’m just getting ready to take Brody’s brother Bryan
for his appointment. You didn’t see him on your way
here from the bus stop, did you? Perhaps
out for a morning run?”

“No ma’am I didn’t,”, answered Sad Girl.
She looked at Brody for help but
he was distracted by his mother serving him
a packed plate of food.

“Brody”, said his mother. “Your father
will be home in two days. How have you
been doing on that list of chores he left you?”

Brody mumbled something into his pancakes
but didn’t meet her eyes.

“I see,” said his mother. “Well I expect
you will be very busy today then.”
She looked pointedly at Sad Girl.

Sad Girl had been hoping
to be invited for breakfast.
She stood there for a minute,
looking between Brody and his mother.

“Thanks for stopping by,” said Brody’s mother.
It was clearly a dismissal.

“I guess I’ll take off,” said Sad Girl.

Brody kept eating.
His mother busied herself at the stove.
Sad Girl let herself out.