More Than We Ask For, More Than We Need
Each night from the treetops,
from our murderous roost,
we watch you set out a tray of
kibble, chicken skin, baby carrots
for us
quaquaqua
for you,
tomorrow, we will leave a
key, a kite string, a crocus bulb
and recall the time you placed
a green avocado on the
glass table to ripen in the sun—
your hair like black silk
quaquaqua
—Sandy Longley
Toad
Look, there’s a frog, my daughter said pointing to a toad in the grass. Oh, that’s not a frog. That’s a toad, I said. But it looks like a frog. It just has bumps all over it, she said. That’s right. They’re related. You could say they’re cousins, I said. But toads are ugly. Frogs are much handsomer, she said. True. But when you kiss a toad in a fairy tale, it turns into a handsome prince, I said. Not a handsome frog? she said. No, a handsome prince, I said. Not an ugly prince? she said. No, a handsome prince, I said. That’s stupid. That doesn’t make any sense, she said. Well, it’s a fairy tale, I said. What’s a fairy tale anyway? Is it a story about fairies? she said. Actually, most of them aren’t stories about fairies. I guess they are stories that fairies tell, I said. Stories fairies tell to us? she said. More like stories fairies tell one another, I said. Well, fairytales are stupid. When I grow up I’m going to write a fairy tell that makes sense, she said. You don’t have to wait until you grow up. You can write one now, I said. And so she did. And here it is: Once upon a time, there was an ugly toad with bumps all over who wanted to be a handsome frog who was smooth all over, so he wished upon a star with all his might, and while he slept, the moon came down from the sky and kissed him and, when he woke up, he was a handsome frog who was smooth all over. The End. That’s very good, but did he live happily ever after? You can’t write The End until you say he lived happily ever after, I said. Well, he didn’t live happily ever after, she said. Why not? I said. Because he was still alone. He was happy to be alone when he was a toad, but he wasn’t happy anymore when he became a frog, she said. I see. You were right. That is a fairy tale that makes sense, I said.
—J. R. Solonche
Viennese Waltz
(1)
my Viennese Pastry Cookbook
a friend through thick and thin
cannot stand upright anymore
but leans a bit due to a
permanent spinal injury
(2)
certainly the star
linzer tarts
live on page seventy four
sporting egg yolks, butter
hazelnuts apricot preserves
a pastry that creates joy in
the dullest ordinary day
(3) crumbs
so what’s left
a picture of
elderly women
seated/standing
lying/crouching
in a place called
Theresienstadt
comparing recipes
for pastries
sometimes quiet
sometimes chuckling
mostly serious
intent on recapturing
moments of joy
all that are left
��"Bonnie Oppenheimer
Squirrel
The realtor in our tidy village said
we think all our children are special
and oh, how they were: a small tribe
shouting in and out of white Colonials
on maple-lined streets, where no one locked
doors, where the river was anchor, sinew,
vein, a dream we all dreamed until
the black-haired girl who wandered
through town, thinner and thinner,
like a faint negative, finally disappeared.
Or until the morning on our aqueduct
trail in honeyed spring light when I saw
a boy hanging from a beech tree.
Today when I nearly stepped on
oozing entrails, what remained
of a hawk’s matter-of-fact attack,
it was unspeakable but I
had practiced looking away.
��"Robin Dellabough
Sleepwalking the Dog
I spend the better part
of my day
developing antibodies
years have slipped
into bottles of messages
traffic jamming
already put-upon seas
checked pulses pass
for People
log ons for touch
acting out
deconstruction of construct
with construct itself��"
hopefully in line
for the next shot
bills must still
be paid��"
worry tended to
and the show go on��"
strapped and spiked
to sheer mountain face
season on season��"
short circuit squander
of expectation
defaults to psychic
iron mask��"
communication
reduced to facts��"
Spirit home alone
news not helpful
streets busy with
approach/avoidance
relief a distant concept
Yet, this much too early
morning
Russell had a good poop
just outside of Annie’s
old house
and each of my breaths
feel tested Positive
for TOMORROW
��"Peter Coco
Hindsight
In retrospect, I probably
needed eyeglasses
years before I got them
I was three when I crawled
under the living room piano
Seeing what looked to me
like a turtle��"only it wasn’t��"
my five-year-old brother
grabbed me by my underpants
and dragged me back
away from a coiled and sleeping
rattlesnake
then hollered to our mother
who was on the phone with our father
who said call Mrs. Knox
who arrived with a forked stick
and a hatchet
and cornered the snake
that had meantime slithered
from the living room
to the pantry
Moments later
she offered us
the rattle as a souvenir
which we refused,
me permanently imprinted
with a fear of snakes
to such an extent that afterwards
as we grew older, my fear grew also
and my brother
carried a big stick
everywhere we walked
like a scythe
threshing the high grasses
that bordered the road
to scare away anything that lurked
But one day, he suddenly
ran down a barren hillside and hid
in the rotted-out trunk
of an old tree
solitary in the open field,
disappearing inside it
and then began yelling
Help, Help, a bear, a bear is killing me
and I froze in terror
I could not move
There was no time
to run home for help
I picked up a thick stick
ran blurry eyed down the hill
determined to chase away the bear
But the closer I got, the more
the old tree trunk looked like what it really was
a shell out of which my brother emerged, laughing;
Something happened to me that day
Call it sudden calm in the eye of a storm
or something that felt like courage
Though my heart was beating rapidly
as we raced home
I knew in that moment
that when you love someone,
your brother, sister, mother,
father, friend, anyone,
in a moment of need
love can conquer fear
love can see beyond limitations;
Eventually eyeglasses
corrected my nearsightedness
but in my heart, I had perfect vision
��"Sydna Altschuler Byrne
Heavy
You are no longer
becoming
this is it!
Letting go of all that mattered
you say, “I didn’t know
it would be this hard…”
but since
these things matter
the weight is
so
much to be lifted
think of
what matters
ascending…like
clouds only vapor
risen
weigh a million pounds
imagine that!
��"C. P. Masciola
Incompatible
We weren’t compatible, and that’s okay.
Not everything comes together
As perfectly as peanut butter and jelly.
It was, in fact, just very recently
(A beautiful, temperate spring morning)
That I saw somebody that I used to know
Wearing deep maroon and neon green.
What the hell was he thinking?
��"Christopher R. Cook
Don’t forget the orbital sander
I don’t care if it has to be your carry-on.
We have to be prepared for anything!
So bring all of your tools.
And your kitchen knives.
And your old tackle box full of art supplies.
God forbid we got to the top of the mountain
and had to build a dining room table
or carve a turkey made of marble
or lay down our arms and surrender to the gods of productivity.
��"Matt Kalish
Raft
Have you not been a refugee
On a makeshift raft of wood,
In transit from some certain grief
Unmended by a well-made eulogy?
Or crossed some unfamiliar ocean
To reclaim your shattered heart-
Passage booked for port uncertain
Love upended, trust gone broken?
Have you not ever dreamed about
Escape from certain dangers,
Been betrayed by leaden feet
Or begged for help from strangers?
If you have seen a makeshift raft
Floating empty on the sea
Then surely you must know by now
To give warm welcome to refugees.
��"Jennifer Howse
The Girl in the Silver Boots
You wore the clothes you loved most that day,
A pink, puffy coat, a matching knit hat and your silver boots.
They were so distinct an item of apparel that only an extreme extrovert
or a child would have picked them to wear.
You were probably around 8 to 10 years old when you last pulled them on
and they were probably some small comfort as they were uniquely yours and familiar.
Then too, they would have been a reminder of better times and on that day, you slung
your backpack and wearing you beloved silver boots, you went, not to school, but
to run for your young life, surrounded by your family.
I will always remember you because of those boots, shining up from the pavement
where you lay dead.
Dead, along with your family.
Dead, owing to a nameless hand, guided by the mad, brooding dream of a tyrant,
who like all tyrants, doesn’t care about the life of a little girl.
A little girl with her dreams, her family’s love and her silver boots.
��"William A. Swenson