re/membering
The Knight’s Tour
Jayashree Krishnan
Three Lines
Grady James
In the darkness
there is always light
ambient disappears, open your eyes, to your own flame
In the fog
there is always form
somewhere beyond your reach, keep moving forward
In the mist
there will be shelter
stretch your soaking arms, embrace the comforting sky
A procession of pachyderms parades past Mt. Kilimanjaro
Scott Gilbertson
April Listic
Beverly Delidow
1. The sun rose, pulling a curtain with it and everything filled with light
2. The dog woke up so happy she wiggled her way across the bed on her back to bounce down and go find her sister
3. The feral seven-toed cat was waiting for me and
Cured Cancer
Gail Boenning
Blue Ice and Seals at South Sawyer Glacier
Anya Toomre
Leaving the Efteling
Marijke van Veldhoven
New Again
Àjíké Kendrick Aşegún
Neglected underutilized spaces
tend to fill themselves in
It’s no wonder folks arranged themselves
to accommodate my fears and tears
It’s time for something new
I’m not blaming lamenting
No longer baffled or bereft left
wondering what happened
From a seed only
I can create and amend worlds
Lay down foundations erect edifices
Fill up and build out on purpose
Exercise creative license potter’s rights
Extrapolation can be a
dangerous and wondrous thing
It’s in my hands to do
even as I speak
Maybe not a seed
but a small tiny piece of a thing
to build upon
A taste a smidgen the essence of
To birth something new
Like This
Amanda Judd
Tiger
Steve Emery
A Study of Poppies
Helena Roth
Dialogue in Red and Black
JT Bullitt
Whispers of a Rose
Sana Fayyaz
Two whole weeks of staying at my in-laws’ new residence in Bahria Town passed and not one sound from the kuraywali or the sabziwala to disturb my sleep. Before the trip, I had prepared to awaken to repetitive chants of “Come come bring your garbage” and “Tomato hundred rupees per kilogram.” Instead, it was quiet. I seldom saw anyone in the streets. Departure day arrived and my ears missed the echo of voices permeating the landscape.
Drawing the curtains open, I was greeted with dark clouds looming and subduing the morning light. The hazy, muggy day suited my cloudy memories. Driving around…
The Old Cardigan
Imma J. López
This is the story of a journey that hasn’t ended. Not yet. I think I am right in the middle. When I started I thought it would be simple. It could have been, and yet… How to peel the skin and not see the flesh? How to not-know the bones are right underneath?
What started as a drafted path is still drafting…. I pulled a loose thread from the rim of one of the sleeves of an old cardigan, to find myself with various yarns at my feet, halfway through. I am aware if I continue pulling, my old cardigan will become… I don’t know what.
Maybe fabric?
At the end of 2020 I made a decision:
Amboseli Family
Kathy Karn
wanting
Jennifer Hole
- What do I want?
- for the water not to feel greasy
- not to see the airport as i paddle
- or the trucks zipping down the highway
- or the cups floating, trailed by a shimmering ooze
- the tires washed up on the shore
- not to have to park in the parking deck
- to access the river
- to feel safe to dive in when its hot
- to feel strong and in unison
- at least briefly
- to listen to the gentle lapping
- a bird’s wings
- the rustle of wind
- to be able to hear these