Going Home: New Orleans by Sheryl St. Germain

Going Home: New Orleans by Sheryl St. Germain for my grandmother, Theresa Frank Some slow evenings when the light hangs late and stubborn in the sky, gives itself up to darkness slowly and deliberately, slow cloud after slow cloud, slowness enters me like something familiar, and it feels like going home. It’s all there inContinue reading “Going Home: New Orleans by Sheryl St. Germain”

Native Village by Fuyuji Tanaka

Native Village by Fuyuji Tanaka A smell of dried flounder broiling At lonely noon-time in my native village Houses, their shingled roofs Weighted down with stones… Frugal smell of dried flounder broiling This lonely noon-time in my native village. On the empty white road A snow-vendor from the mountains walks alone. SOURCE: Poetry, May 1956Continue reading “Native Village by Fuyuji Tanaka”

December 1991 by David Hare

December 1991 by David Hare She drove me to Trouville in her black Volkswagen droptop Leaving Paris early by the Peripherique and getting there by noon There was frost even on the inside of the slanted back window And the laughable so-called heater pretty soon Gave out. The tyres rocked on the brittle brown concrete.Continue reading “December 1991 by David Hare”

A Champs-Élysées Stroll, 1980 by Jeanie Greenfelder

A Champs-Élysées Stroll, 1980by Jeanie Greenfelder On a torrid day, traffic and tourists sweatand we trudge toward Café Ladurée.I’m determined to taste the famed macaronsmy friend raved about.  My husband sights a nearby brasserieand wants to skip the Café Ladureé,souring my Paris magic.I hurl vintage hurts at him:You don’t love me. You never loved me.HisContinue reading “A Champs-Élysées Stroll, 1980 by Jeanie Greenfelder”

Long Road to the Sugar Shack for Sugar on Snow by Tricia Knoll

Long Road to the Sugar Shack for Sugar on Snowby Tricia Knoll I stop my car in mud ruts from a thawafter a blizzard. Halfway to the shackwhere white vapor will be the happiest sightin Vermont in late March, last night’ssnowfall droops heavy limbs. The sun, our star of white on white,glares full strength inContinue reading “Long Road to the Sugar Shack for Sugar on Snow by Tricia Knoll”

In an Orchard on Thanksgiving by David Weiss

In an Orchard on Thanksgiving by David Weiss We walked out among the spurs of the apple trees, mending our lives behind with our life ahead. Moonlight lit the frost that was stiffening the field. A brook spoke for us mixing milky, metallic sounds. We picked the last apple off a tree, shared its white,Continue reading “In an Orchard on Thanksgiving by David Weiss”

Doggie Diner, Geary and Arguello, 1969 by Vince Gotera

Doggie Diner, Geary and Arguello, 1969 by Vince Gotera Out of San Francisco night, the cool fog’s gray fingers caressing hills and houses, emerged, in chef’s hat and bowtie, the Dog, ten-foot-tall dachshund’s head in fiberglass. Tina, my first real high school girlfriend, and I entered through the shiny glass doors, holding hands, both in hippieContinue reading “Doggie Diner, Geary and Arguello, 1969 by Vince Gotera”

Garden of Eden by Tracy K. Smith

Garden of Edenby Tracy K. Smith What a profound longingI feel, just this very instant,For the Garden of EdenOn Montague StreetWhere I seldom shopped,Usually only after therapyElbow sore at the crookFrom a handbasket filledTo capacity. The glossy pastries!Pomegranate, persimmon, quince!Once, a bag of black belugaLentils spilt a trail behind meWhile I labored to findA teaContinue reading “Garden of Eden by Tracy K. Smith”

The Grand Silos of the Sacramento by Lawson Fusao Inada

The Grand Silos of the Sacramento by Lawson Fusao Inada From a distance, at night, they seem to be industries—all lit up but not on the map; or, in this scientific age, they could be installations for launching rocket ships— so solid, and with such security, are they. . . Ah, but up close, byContinue reading “The Grand Silos of the Sacramento by Lawson Fusao Inada”

Connemara by Maureen Grady

Connemaraby Maureen Grady I must now leave this landthat I love with a physical longing. There’s a Covid! a tiny local woman calls out,breathless and afraid,as she waves to me from the crossroad.She runs round to my windowto see who I might be,and what in the world I am doingthere in the far, far westonContinue reading “Connemara by Maureen Grady”