by Michelle Fossum
“Last night I dreamt That Tom Hanks was my houseguest. His neighborly limbs were/Too long to fit comfortably within our walls,/ Having grown smaller somehow. Is it because of the quarantine,/
I thought, or was the house always this size?”
by M. Jay Kardon
“How do I tell you…/ I read poems in a/ patch house, Vesta 6,/ poems that celebrate/nature read in a house”
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by Lisa Pickett
“There they go marching down Ingram Avenue dressed as little monsters and witches in the annual Halloween Parade. Prancing back on over to Resurrection Sunday hunting for those Ingram Park golden Easter eggs.”
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by Evan Gray
tilling the garden we lifted the hands of a fawn
half-dead & cut to be
composted in nature rock is stricken with roots…
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by Roosha Mandal
“Alphabet, alphabet, alphabet soup:/ the clear, viscous drizzle singes my taste buds/ and my tongue yearns for/ clove, cardamom, and a country of colorful saris.”
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by Matthew Ussia
“Whenever I see a crossing guard’s bright yellow raincoat,/ I think of St. John Minadeo—”
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by Seth Parente
Sunflower seeds sit salty against my cheek
Teeth cracking the shells
Warm and sharp
Broken pieces on my tongue
A burnt taste of nostalgia
