The Cafe Review

by Elly Bookman There is a morning, and there are brown eyes rising somewhere against a dense piano bass line meant to begin things. This river

by Elly Bookman In a living room that couldn’t have been ours or even anyone’s we knew because it was decorated entirely with stainless steel and

by Douglas Woody Woodsum Light spring rain on a metal roof: hi–hat and snare at the start of a song, measure after measure till the rest

by Douglas Woody Woodsum Someone hammered something so thin It could not help but bend and hang And did it again and again until A keyboard made

by Daniel Lusk These zebra mussels are mistakes we made in our youth. How clear the water now and how clearly we can see them. They seem to have

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

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