The Cafe Review

by Daniel Lusk — after a painting by Sally Coppersmith Out of our view overhead, clouds like spinnakers. Stippled lake giving way to

by Daniel Lusk “Why am I soft in the middle when life is so hard?” Paul Simon, “You Can Call Me Al” A young woman bursts from the

by Annie Seikonia in the aftermath of twin mourning doves next the rows of sleeping buds Persephone’s bouquet smolders deep purple flowers

by Annie Seikonia mere skin mere bones part of this deepening day warbled conversations: thunder and hush later when the light has seeped away,

by Benjamin Aleshire I study my grandmother dying once a week for a few years. I am young and getting bigger every day She is shrinking steadily

by Michael David Madonick Puffed – up, as if weight might give body to song, the cardinal’s staccato rakes the morning air. Beneath him,

by Michael David Madonick it’s hard to keep a rhythm with the wind in your face birds tacking like loose newspaper clouds a kind of wind sock the

by Michael David Madonick We cannot reconcile ourselves, the incongruities of our bodies and of our natures, that which is cast in the purposeful

by Daniel Hales See how the wind folds and pleats the water? Hear how each wave says, repeats: the water? After two years marooned on pine

by Karina Borowicz If I cry when I tell you the dream don’t console me simply believe me it’s hard to put my darkness into words to describe the

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