Lynne Cawood Howard

Lynne Cawood Howard

In 1982, Lynne Cawood Howard wrote the perfect coronavirus poem. The Miner’s Son My father died in his fortieth winterwhen the black scars that were his lungsgave in with one final breath.Though I have not reached thirty, I wake up coughing and hear the rattle...

Joe Bolton

Days of Summer Gone It’s too late to go back to that apartmentIn Bowling Green, Kentucky, where we slept togetherSo many nights. I wonder if whoever lives there nowAnd fucks in that bed ever wonders about us? If memory’s any good gauge, the placeMust be...
Joe Bolton

Joe Bolton

The Distance As seen in Days of Summer Gone, Galileo Press, 1990 Two women are hugging each other goodbyeOn the sidewalk in the tree-shadowOf a late spring afternoon. It is notSexual, though both are beautiful.And though both are tall and litheUnder their dark hair,...

Jennifer Key

The Horizon Has a Horrible Way of Disappearing “You probably weren’t going to get pregnant anyway.” He meant it to be reassuring but it was a horrible thing to hear—the finality of her husband’s statement. What was the point, after all, of...