The Cafe Review

by Megan Grumbling Have I heard of the allegory of the cave? he wonders, blue to me in pooled monitor lume, a dim room of insides, guess –

by Megan Grumbling O me, while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever! . . . O to disengage myself from these

by Renée Olander Those two creamy strands, their vague yellow tint increasing the value of the oyster’s irritation, cost an outrageous thousand

by Renée Olander Whose bones ache in long – healed broken places? Whose bones remember, come damp or cold weather, The hardball hit into

by Renée Olander I. On the Bay this morning, not far from beach bathers who mostly gave it wide berth, a dead turtle washed up, like a whole

by Henry Rappaport 1 Rosie says the bush is December thinks three weeks freeze got it is flip and sad at the half masts. Meanwhile, the sun

by Henry Rappaport 1. The man with no legs looks at a map of the night, looks and wonders where he can go. He closes his eyes and looks at a map

by Larry Dyhrberg There comes a moment In the life of Cherries, After the bright red, After the darkening And swelling into succulence, The mouth

by Lynn Levin Loving the hard – to – love, I sought your human feet. At the Chinese grocery you lay in a bin pond – mucked like

by Erica Goss What desires us most enters through the mouth: consider breath, with its vital repetitions; and if the esophagus is the top of a

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