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Issue 72
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Editor's Note
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POETRY
- D.M. Aderibigbe
- Sebastian Agudelo
- Bruce Bond
- Fleda Brown
- Nick Conrad
- Ellen Devlin
- Fay Ann Dillof
- Peter Grandbois
- Danielle Hanson
- Mark Heinlein
- Karen Paul Holmes
- David M. Katz
- Laura McCullough
- Michael Montlack
- Aaron J. Poller
- Mike Riello
- Eric Paul Shaffer
- Kenneth Sherman
- Phillip Sterling
- Laura Van Prooyen
- Jeremy Voigt
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FICTION
Issue > Poetry
The Birds of New Haven
When a bullet strikes the bell in its path
a bullet of sound flies out the other side,
and the widow with her broom in the distance
looks up and pauses, pierced, and in the wind
that follows, leaves scatter from steps below.
When a bullet strikes, the bell in its path
strikes a name from the ledger of the wind.
The leaves and the broom that gathers them,
they make one sound now. As those in black
make one darkness down the chapel steps.
The widow's silence as she listens is a hole,
no larger than a sun. And as the sun falls in,
the crows, the trees, they are one crow now.
And turn like leaves to music as she turns away.