Regeneration
Soon the salmon will bite
The man tighten his grip
And all the lake
will shake a little
These concentric circles
Would look glorious from above
And every one a prelude to another
Until the movement is stilled and gives out
These ribbons of time
Beat outward
The fish is caught
Pink and blue and white
Soon the woman will pause
And lower her eyelids and exhale
On this day, the day that
rhymes with all the others
Daughter, under her feet
She is the changing word in the rhyme
She grows a little now
She speaks and mimics. She learns to smile
She moves to walk
And stops and falls
And is held above the cold, clean
Floor, like a woman above an abyss
She greets her father and his salmon
She leans against him now, she comes up to his
Kneecap. Hand against calf
The shapes fit ideally, almost as though…
Her father and mother speak, touch in
their own language above.
When they look down
Her hair is growing
In circles,
Concentric.
Young
—Harry Schiller
East End Market
Sign on the side of the building:
“East End Market. Parking Only.”
Too Bad. I thought
they might sell groceries.
—Matthew J. Spireng
Cognitive Assessment Exam or How Many Missing Marbles
They insist, my nosy children after
I left the car running, forgot to pay PG&E
and got lost coming home from Lucky,
ending up in New Jersey
What’s the problem if I know the names
of my four or is it five grandkids,
and can follow a football game
as long as I remember which team
is the Falcons
Why take a stupid memory test
when I remember who the current president is,
his name starts a T or a P, who cares,
and of course I know what year it is
but will double check before the exam
Piece of cake to count backwards from 100 by 7’s
if I write the answers on the inside of my arm
the way I did in high school and got straight A’s
93 86 78 71 65 52 47
I have learned to suddenly cough
and nearly fall off the chair, requiring a trip
to the ladies’ where I check my phone
to see what state Chicago is in
My kids will be shocked when I ace the test
but I can’t find my keys
I don’t remember the doctor’s name
or what time I’m meant to be there
and it sure is dark in here
—Claire Scott
Old Friend
Waiting for his old
Friend to
Soften,
The little
Boat
Beside the mountain
Lake.
—Ryan Brennan
Delay
I brought my vacation tote:
a black patterned Baggallini
big enough for everything I carry on a plane
or might need at the infusion center.
A light wrap,
most recent issue of The Sun
a book,
small journal and several pens,
ID/insurance cards, phone, glasses, snacks, lip balm
new blue headphones,
my mother, father, and brother’s mass cards
that live in the zippered compartment inside
along with a lucky pressed penny
with a Mickey Mouse on it.
Except for the IV poles at every seat
we all could have been at the airport
waiting for our flights.
Just a delay.
—Diane Peterson
Unbound
Thoughts spun like
twine, wound around
this heart of mine,
rub raw the wasted
shrine.
Yet ensnarled knots of mind
untwist and slip
with breath and time.
Worry wears,
bonds shared fray.
So too the grip of grief,
awaiting, fades away.
—Isabelle Feffer
Fall-in
The last of the gingko leaves have fallen.
They are yellow and pepper the streets.
I run right over them.
Bracing my tender knees
for the miles ahead.
Out of the corner of my eye
I see him walk by.
When I turn he is not there.
Only a figment, part and parcel
of my collective memories and
intuition.
Submission to sweetness.
Everything is better sweet.
I cannot help the way I crave it.
Dip the leaves in laminate and
weave them through a typewriter.
Scent of burgundy and vetiver.
Wax melting on the parts of me
that need filling.
I’m still not used to this,
I feel undeserving.
Dry like salt-chapped beach lips
as I gather intel from stagnant
streets shouldering shoelaces
and coffee breath.
Nothing is sticking.
Insides like sludge, like bottled glue.
Slip on rain boots and Ray Bans,
slide into bookstore, greeted by
brown striped Buster
leave toting Virginia Woolf.
I am hardly here.
At some lighthouse in
Skye waiting to see a sign
of your ship
in the distance.
—Robyn Hager
Empty
The window. I ask
a question to the darkness.
Alone, it echoes.
—Michelle Rodriguez
Happy Pills
A deep happiness
Cracked free from under my bones
Modern medicine.
—Sage Higgins
Coming Home from War
I stare into my mother’s eyes
In a dream
Real life is too formal
It is difficult to convey how little I had slept
Before home
And how many steps I had walked
People tell me I am no navalman
Maybe so
How would I know
I was just a hobo
Not in Afghanistan
Just lost without a home
Not in some four-door pickup
Just on foot
“Ten hut”
One foot after another
—Joseph Klarl
Dinner and Drinks
Rats don’t pay rent—
We just listen in for entertainment.
Bobby in 2B cheated on Martha from 4F.
She threw all his clothes off the fire escape.
The weird kid in 3C likes rats.
He feeds us meals fit for kings
when his father isn’t looking.
In the corner suite on the fifth floor,
there’s a pet rat named Princess.
Her cage is bedazzled.
We visit her for dinner and drinks
every Thursday at 6:30 pm,
when her owner is at Pilates.
—Alexondra O’Connell
Hospital Admission Pantoum
Rewrite the lines I just wrote
To help me think through the plan
Close the chart and sign the note
I think I’ve done here what I can
To help me think through the plan
Talk it through with trusted friends
I think I’ve done here what I can
I’ll let them know how this ends
Talk it through with trusted friends
But I get a call, they’re back again
I’ll let them know how this ends
Knock on the door, and come on in
But I get a call, they’re back again
I divine a spell, concoct a cure
Knock on the door, and come on in
I’m sorry for what you endure
I divine a spell, concoct a cure
Hold my breath, wish you well
I’m sorry for what you endure
My treatment is only a witch’s spell
Hold my breath, wish you well
Rewrite the lines I just wrote
My treatment is only a witch’s spell
Close the chart and sign the note
—Jean Liew
East of the Sun, West of the Moon
Why is it so hard to find this place
In the middle?
At every moment I’m gone
Washing the silverware
Caught in the web of a smartphone
But then
With a cup of jasmine tea
A glimpse of the Milky Way
I return to the castle
Where the beloveds reunite
Whatever that means
In the real world
Even if there are no
Witches, trolls, or talking bears
We are living a story
In between
A beginning and an ending
Happily, or not
Ever After
—Jim Metzner
This article appears in April 2025.
