Lit Poetry

On the Interstate, my daughter tells me she only has two questions.  I’m relieved because she usually has two hundred. I say, Okay, let’s have them, and...

Traveling to the house of born and raised, I dredge a map from muscle memory.   If I said the bones called me home, I’d be taking the...

A “(for don’t we all crave beauty and contamination)” ~  Priscilla Sneff For CB: friend, fellow writer, dream interpreter extraordinaire A A I fissured the shells open, exposing...

We shared books that summer and conversation. What would it have been like to repair and then sail a boat?   We discussed the underlying themes, wondering   what we would salvage if...

They’ll tell you that Kentucky bluegrass isn't really blue. But perhaps they've never seen it at that curious moment when the ground wakes up and yawning...

In search of supreme knowledge I found but a dew drop At dawn A A A   Michael Allen's work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bare Hands Poetry, the Nervous...

Freezing rain pinged the skylight after the late news, thanks to the Appalachians damming the air from New England.   Patti first hears the crack of the thin Bradford pear...

I don’t know how many times I’ve circled your block looking for clues: lights on, cars in the parking lot, the dark form crossing the window.   I circle...

When the sun streamed through hair                                                                                                  ~ for Molly And dew sat pensive I thought, and thought Of how I could possibly go. How could I go…   The twilight...

Once there was a girl born quiet on these rolling hills, her throat dry, her lips and tongue gone tangled.   She listened well enough and learned...