Backbone > Poetica
edited by Franci Levine Grater

There's a time to be born and a time to die, a time to celebrate and a time to mourn, but in between is there time to read and hear, to protest and imagine, to kiss and teach? On the days between, our lives are lived.

—Franci

Ghazal

No graven images, admonish both the Decalogue and Koran.
The newspaper bloats with headshots of the uncomprehending dead.

In Manhattan a search dog has to be resuscitated.
In Kandahar another dog is roasted on a spit.

Celebrities blab and Republicans bluster in that place the Ayatollahs call "The Great Satan."
Dante consigned Mohammed, cleft from ass to chin, to the Circle of the Sowers of Discord.

Medieval warriors ride forth with space-age weapons.
The stars that glitter above Ground Zero have Arabic names.

The god they worship is the One God.
Ours as well, he remains the usual suspect.

-Mikhail Horowitz

God

If we were to prove
the existence of God
scientifically, that is

there would be no
need for faith

If Jesus came down
and danced
across the lake
in Central Park
CNN would cover it
and all would know

Or if God the Father
did a one-man show on Broadway,
creating new life
right on stage
then we wouldn't need faith

Though some would still question
The Fish, The Bread, The Wine,
Lazarus
They would say, it's all a trick
He would say, of course it is

-Jim Kenny

Risk

picking picking
picking through prose
like a cat picking
through snow
hoping to find a
felicitous spot
that's like home
familiar and warm
but the snow is what
makes the beauty
and the cold is what
makes us know
beauty poses risks
like snow

-Elaine Mills

All Hallow's Eve Reprieve

Costumed like a pirate
that leapt from the plank,
the husky boy I was
swirled with eyes bugged,
whipping my candy-laden
pillowcase in all directions,
fending off these robbers of loot,
wary of my size and fervor.
Trick or treat my ass.
These unadorned thugs roam the night
like vultures seeking chocolate carrion.
My skinny companion Frankenstein
whimpers home,
his treasure trove of goodies
considerably lightened.
Bedroom bound, I bolt away,
thankful for my booty
and shivering in me timbers.

-Wayne Civita