-
Issue 67
-
Editor's Note
-
POETRY
- Jean C. Berrett
- Sally Bliumis-Dunn
- Aozora Brockman
- Catherine Carter
- Elaine Fletcher Chapman
- Alice Clara Gavin
- Michael Homolka
- Josh Kalscheur
- Dore Kiesselbach
- Brandon Krieg
- Peter LaBerge
- Steve Lambert
- Jennie Malboeuf
- Peter Munro
- Joe Pan
- Simon Perchik
- Nora Hutton Shepard
- Matthew Stark
- Vivian Teter
- John Sibley Williams
- Matthew Wimberley
-
FICTION
Issue > Poetry
At The Dock On Angel Island, San Francisco Bay
Boats, empty, docked.
And a green storm cloud that moves in fast
from the south.
In northern Wisconsin midsummer
the greens were more than green
especially after a storm.
The silence there was enough
for the strong strange song of the loon.
Now the wind buffets about
so that a dream can rise from the water.
Call it yours, my mother, who can't remember
anything.
Behind me,
a wren will not stop chirping.
Tell me, I say, I need
to know.