The Cafe Review

by John Field Land mines exploding, red memories On the battlefield infected and runny. Then home again way too thin And screaming flashbacks In

by John Field Design for a House after a poem by Jonathan Holden Sometimes a dream that grips us we become. In the house I’m designing

by Lauren Camp All around, the heat–wringing. When D told me his prostate was like Minute Steak, so much detail left white that he lowered

by Lauren Camp The hours between York and Kennebunk, between Boston and Salem, and too between Danvers and Logan thin

by Lauren Camp I am granted every fork, every chair, every blossom, the lantern and saffron, escape or alliance. It’s an agreement I made: to

by Wren Tuatha I told you then I would take it out back and kill it with a knife. But I couldn’t do it. You stumbled upon my love today as then.

by Wren Tuatha Cotton takes care of me. I mend and wonder where a word went as Cotton hops out of bed, feeds the herd, showers. I’m late with his

by Michael Mark We’re all widowers here, all old guys, just happened that way. Our dates are dogs. Terriers, labs, mutts. They rush to each

by Margaret Randall Earth, that solid ball beneath our feet spins in the vastness of space where neither up nor down exists, while on the orbital

by Michael Bove On the banks of the Susquehanna they lived in a shack. Frost between wood slats, a paltry wall between winter and themselves:

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