Issue 5

September 2010

Cover Image © 2002 “Healing” by Stephen Mead resides with the artist; mixed media on canvas paper, from the series “States of Desire, States of Being.”

Through struggles we witness the development of a stronger sense of self, a more reflective and sensitive nature, and a desire to cherish each moment offered by life.

With great clarity, the works in this issue speak to the process of recognizing, accepting, working through, and going on in life after a debilitating, devastating event.

Travel the paths laid out by these gifted poets, authors, and artists.  Listen to their stories, contemplate their messages, and embrace their images as you consider your own lives and the lives you've touched.

You will get no bigger

As I swallow you down.

At the core shall be light.

I will own it as an opus

                Stephen Mead

when will it come

and what will it look like

and will we be ready to break, away.

                                        Kelly Coveny

she fumbled

in the dark for the knob,

hoping

                    Alarie Tennille

Someone

in a laboratory counting red cells

has found hers insufficient.  Each night

as the fist squeezes her heart,

she sees ashes scattered in the woods.

                                        Arlene L. Mandell

I have never collected moths

but you are pinned somehow on my mind’s wall

several hallways from heart.

Allow me this distance,

allow me not to weep.

                                        C.E. Chaffin

Yesterday you told me that when you woke

you could not remember my name for a moment

and I was terrified that what has lurked in shadows

has now begun to skulk into the light

                                                            Nancy Calhoun

Only you could bring harvesting

to an art with your sudden celebrations.

                                                        Sharon Erby

I do try to forget:

every cool touch I cannot lay on your brow,

every peppermint sticky hand

I cannot hold.

                        Kristin Roedell

I know too much: know grief in city windows

and tears beyond my door, know sadness lies

hunched in corners like hopeless rags needing

airing.

                                            Janet Sunderland

cardinals

wing from oak to pine

as the wind

on this breezy day stops

                            Stacey Dye

the motion of her wheelchair

so still, occupied by a cat

sleeping

            Bobbi Sinha-Morey

He had changed since I was a child, when the world

was a new place to be discovered, and not

some old trickster with a scam up his sleeve.

                                                                    Luke Evans

I don’t want you to aim for awe because I am awestruck by the fact that you aren’t in awe of yourself already.

Monique Hayes

I will give

your beauty

consent to touch

my pain.

Sergio A. Ortiz

In odd stillness, her fingers traced

the small spot

smooth like family,

quiet like a gift of understanding.

                 Theresa Senato Edwards

Grief sits beside you,

counts the months on her fingers.

                        Deborah Kroman

taking my arm

steadying yourself,

caressing my biceps,

our last intimacy

these threshold days.

                Ed Bennett