by Clinton Van Inman
REPLY TO BLAKE
Poor William you were not the first.
That invisible worm that flies by night
by Glenda Barrett
Unlike Molly, the neighbor woman
who runs to our house for protection
the minute she sees a storm cloud,
by Katie Bickham
Glory to the Delta, the unraveling
thrown open river,
by Matthew Brown
They swell when you put them in your mouth,
fresh from picking, all cool sweet flame of taste
and the rest water.
by Joshua Polk
See how we connect. We spill our wine
on hardwood, not on carpet.
by Wynne Huddleston
We planned to run away, but never did. I
lived as a hermit in a new brick house full
of doors, sisters that shut me out, a nagging
mom who did everything, and a dad
who was miles away at work, or at home
booming, Don’t do this! or Why did you do
by Barry North
Death could not touch your legacy.
Like a black crow flying across green trees
it could no nothing but enhance your beauty.
by Kory Wells
In the sweet
moments, I forget you’re gone.
I picture you in your red-checkered kitchen,
skillet popping grease, peas and pearl onions
by Cynthia Eddy
A secret is a slippery thing
It slides in and out of the real
Dark takes over.
by Sally Burnette
The sign leers in front of a dilapidated car dealership. Kudzu curls
up the white bench that has an ad for a child abuse
hotline stuck to the back.