Poetry

Three Poems by Laurie Kolp

Poetry Issue #1: Conversation March 15th, 2019 March 15th, 2019 Three Poems by Laurie Kolp Surrounded by Strangers The father is flawed. His comatose body shows lines of doubt arrowed to almond eyes and angled between them. Even asleep, he wears the years deep. The wife droops beside him like a coneflower while the daughter holds his limp hand. The son paces the hospital room, gets nowhere with his rant about the other car, how he would sue the driver for passing on a double line. Around the bend it came into their lane, he ...

The Striker Talks with the Doctor—John Davis

Poetry Issue #1: Conversation March 15th, 2019 March 15th, 2019 The Striker Talks with the Doctor by John Davis The Striker Talks with the Doctor I might have said it hurts worse when you squeezed my knee, twisted it medial to lateral, or when you gripped my meniscus with your thumb, rubbed up and down the tibia and I might have jumped more when you thumbed my IT band. I might have screamed Uncle the way I do when my cousin squeezes my wrist just this side of ...

Two Poems by Fae Kayarian

Poetry Issue #1: Conversation March 15th, 2019 March 15th, 2019 Two Poems by Fae Kayarian The Color Blue I study the pathologies of memory. You can only imagine how ironic it was when I found you caught in the net I had only cast for others. I see it in your sea storm eyes. You know that something is missing, but you are too tangled to be set free and find it. You are the version of Ulysses who never returned home. Every time ...

Two Poems by Danielle Salvadori

Poetry Issue #1: Conversation March 15th, 2019 March 15th, 2019 Two Poems by Danielle Salvadori Keeping Score She said let’s start with history, how the counts rose and fell and rose again, the score that points to what’s going on, what we have. Don’t scream, I’ve done everything I should’ve, the cells win over will, you can’t beat the count however hard you try. That’s the score. You must measure, keep up the score, grasp hold of science with all you have, and fill the ...

Sella Turcica—Amy Baskin

Poetry Issue #1: Conversation March 15th, 2019 March 15th, 2019 Sella Turcica by Amy Baskin Sella Turcica —part of the sphenoid In my skull, a butterfly bone flutters, restless, slipped saddle to lobes and glands. She registers distress reading the skull’s cryptic Braille. Her hands harness. Replace on rails this drawer that moments ago would not shut. Now will it hold my thoughts? Amy Baskin reads “Sella Turcica”: Amy Baskin’s recent work has appeared in VoiceCatcher, Cirque, and Friends Journal. She is a 2019 Oregon Literary Arts fellowship recipient. When not writing, she matches international students at Lewis ...

Poetry Issue #1: Conversation March 15th, 2019 March 15th, 2019 Poetry Letter from the Poetry Editor: The Humanizing Power of Civil Words Sella Turcica | Amy Baskin Operating Talk and The Good Patient | Ann Wallace Keeping Score and Tuesday Night | Danielle Salvadori Unnameable | Sam Moore The Color Blue and It’s been six years | Fae Kayarian Surrounded by Strangers, Bedside Manner, and Standing on Wishbones | Laurie Kolp Alheimer’s, Reverse Cheating, and My Mother Said | Suellen Wedmore The Striker Talks with the Doctor | ...

Letter from the Poetry Editor

Poetry Issue #1: Conversation March 15th, 2019 March 15th, 2019 Letter from the Poetry Editor: The Humanizing Power of Civil Words by Steve Granzyk n The Republic, Plato claimed poets should be banned from the debate of issues within his idealized society because poetry, he said, “inflames the passions.” Yet, chances are, if you remember a piece of writing, it’s because it moved you. Many devices writers use are designed to form that deeper connection. Today, empathy ...

Two Poems by Ann Wallace

Poetry Issue #1: Conversation March 15th, 2019 March 15th, 2019 Two Poems by Ann Wallace Operating Talk Quite a game last night, wasn’t it? As the mask is placed over my face, I want to say Yes, Mussina struggled, but he pulled through. But the question was for the nurses, the surgeon, colleagues prepping for the morning’s work, not for me. Instead the anesthesiologist pushes warmth into the IV in my arm, and I’m asked to count backward from ten, nine…aaa As I slip under, ...