Praise to thee great Allah, For carving my beloved Pure as the sand of Mecca, Rarer than the rose rarest. But Allah, Why you make her princess Beyond reach of servant Rasheed? The suitors are at the palace gate Hankering after my love-bird. Her father the Khaleef Hath proclaimed- Let eet bee Who touches the…
EDITORIAL BOARD Directors DeWitt Henry Peter O'Malley Coordinating Editor Thomas Lux Editorial Staff Ray Amorosi David Gullette Paul Hannigan James Randall Contributing Editors William Corbett Celia Gilbert Jane Shore Art Director David Omar White CONTRIBUTORS ELLEN BASS lives in Cambridge and has a book coming out from U. Mass. Press. JOE DAVID BELLAMY teaches at…
I am writing my heart out here. In a kitchen, two towns away, my friend Fanny is doing likewise. She sits surrounded by her children like a patient plant. When we telephone each other the children come into our ears like static; stereo commotion: they cling to us like clay. When we sit down to…
Sunday: broken teacups to replace the brassiere; the old folks have too much to mull over. I guess I’ll cry for them when it seems as though the crying’s good. Monday: old sots in the willows — the dog food will probably last a year, with caution and a fork without tines. Tuesday: break your…
Steel arms tired of empty reaching, settle into a bed older than the urge to get across. No one pays attention. Losses are usual, the elements tempered to subtraction. Only giant beams know their own sinking for a tragic sun, eye burning horizons that cover them. Experts may detect a shrinking. Rails rode earlier to…
1. Always I feel it bloating like a tumor a weight, a shape brushing my thighs as I wade into sleep. The water is warm like my blood flat as a kitchen table my face dances there in sun circles the water is a caress. Then a fin breaks the surface coming fast. 2. You…
The door slams. The corpse sits up. The dog says, “Don’t look at me.” They have planned this in Hollywood. They have planned your elopment with the boy with silver cufflinks. They have planned his mother’s anger, the snobbishness caught in her teeth, gooey as a night of bile. When you unbutton your blouse —…
The word was somber. What it might have meant, its origin and weight, uncertain under shade as the dark face below the ratified sombrero. Eyes it gave the lie to overshadowed where sun wheels higher than missing trees. The hoopoo’s lim downcurving bill complements the Old World crest, flamboyant color in the unitary sun. Signs…
Put my glad rags in a cardboard box — This old jiggerboo never grew mature. Is everthing in its place except me? Don’t be surprised; I called all day And the only person I could reach was The operator; and it’s a sorry day when Nothing is coming down but your foot. And how deep…
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