This Trip

Richard Cole

Third day of the hurricane
and the whole world is flooded,
people huddled on rooftops,
and that’s how the father and son
arrive, in an outboard,
and the people clamber down,
stiff-legged, shivering, so many souls
loading the boat that the son says
I’ll get out and he trades places
with the last ones so all are saved
this trip. The father nods, [Read more...]

Cistels/Reeds

Anno Domini 1098
Vickie Cimprich

What did you go out into the wilderness
to see? A reed swaying in the breeze?
No? Then what did you go out to
see? Matthew 11: 7

Mud rushes sway
in the wind. Marsh skin prickles
under water strider feet. [Read more...]

Beatrice of Nazareth 1200-1268

in memoriam, Roger De Ganck, O.C.S.O.
Vickie Cimprich

1. The worker bee

Christ smells nectar
in the south wind of divine grace
and flies to Beatrice at Florival.

2. Sleep

comes to Beatrice at once
on wood or stone pillows. [Read more...]

The Keyboard at Majorca

Joseph O’Brien

Between November 8, 1838 and February 13, 1839, Frederic Chopin accompanied George Sand and her two children Solange and Maurice to Majorca to restore his failing health. Met with a growing animosity by the Majorcan natives who soon realized this couple was not married, Chopin and Sand were forced to take up residence in an abandoned Carthusian monastery on the island outside the town of Valldemossa. Considered one of his most productive periods of composition, these three months on Majorca yielded some of Chopin’s most exquisite compositions—including his best preludes, ballades, and polonaises. [Read more...]

Project Rachel

Amanda Nowakowski

The mass was for us and the
dead that never left us. We were
seated in the radiating chapels
near the altar and didn’t look

at each other. The cardinal processed
the nave with his army of bishops,
priests, and the local deacon. The dead
hadn’t made it past the day we lay [Read more...]

Harry Ploughman

Nick Ripatrazone

After Gerard Manley Hopkins

With a fountain’s shining shot furls,

palm and heel of hand flit, muscle-
	skin fraps, fanted speed;
	erumpent swing, and here
	arm falcated;
	eolian;
	feet-base edaphic, each bend
	a camber: wait, carmine 
	and cerise: wait, what breath
	of body becomes chaff, skin,
	abraded toward soil-on-bone.

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Story without a Name

Eve Tushnet

I.

Italics. I am in italics. I am canted slantwise toward the world. I pretend that the Roman numeral was modeled on me—the number for one. One alone, to be my own. . . .

I will never hear.

I.

I am the ellipsis. I am discreetly edited out.

I.

I am trapped in the subjunctive tense. Quisiera. I would have wanted. Perdiera. I would have missed. I would have. You know I would have. [Read more...]

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The Edifice

As soon as you enter, nothing is the same—
 A fact, perhaps, you knew before you came
 Inside. The shape alone, from down the street,
 Signals some fundamental and complete
 Transformation from what has come before,
 In motion by the time you touch the door.
The door—here, too, something seems amiss
 If known conventions be applied to this.
 Unlike the tidy portals near and next,
 Of chrome and glass, exquisitely Windexed,
 The knotted oak leaves outside witness blind,
 But those who enter know what they will find.

[Read more...]

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