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Poetry Winter 2013    fiction    all issues


Alysse Kathleen McCanna
& other poems

Peter Nash
Shooting Star
& other poems

Katherine Smith
House of Cards
& other poems

David Sloan
On the Rocks
& other poems

Alexandra Smyth
Exoskeleton Blues
& other poems

John Glowney
The Bus Stop Outside Ajax Bail Bonds
& other poems

Andrea Jurjević O’Rourke
It Was a Large Wardrobe...
& other poems

Lisa DeSiro
Babel Tree
& other poems

Michael Fleming
& other poems

Michael Berkowitz
As regards the tattoo on your wrist
& other poems

Michael Brokos
Landscape without Rest
& other poems

Michael H. Lythgoe
Orpheus In Asheville
& other poems

John Wentworth
morning people
& other poems

Christopher Jelley
Double Exposure
& other poems

Catherine Dierker
dinner party
& other poems

William Doreski
Hate the Sinner, Not the Sin
& other poems

Robert Barasch
& other poems

Rande Mack
& other poems

Susan Marie Powers
Red Bird
& other poems

Anne Graue
& other poems

Mariah Blankenship
Tub Restoration
& other poems

Paul R. Davis
& other poems

Philip Jackey
Garage drinking after 1989
& other poems

Karen Hoy
A Naturalist in New York
& other poems

Gary Sokolow
Underworld Goddess
& other poems

Michal Mechlovitz
The Early
& other poems

Henry Graziano
Last Apple
& other poems

Stephanie L. Harper
& other poems

Roger Desy
& other poems

R. G. Evans
& other poems

Frederick L. Shiels
Driving Past the Oliver House
& other poems

Richard Sime
Berry Eater
& other poems

Jennifer Popoli
Generations in a wine dark sea
& other poems

Roger Desy


—feeding a brood

an anhinga knows

itself enough to know

the most important thing alive

is not itself—instead

being part—a part

of what it made

of what it was and is

—feeding nestlings

it feeds itself—

later—brooding done

apart from itself

nothing else matters

—after diving for prey

—flocking the shoals

to a single stone

roosting with its kind

it preens its own shadow

undulating in the mirrored glare

—napping on guano

its wings alone

drench dry in the sun—

—come winter—

alone—after its turn and time

—it dies unseen unknown—

no predator torments observing it

—nothing in particular seeks out

or notices

floating—or blowing sand

—feather—quill—or barb

—no calm—or fog—or squall—cirrus

or haloed moon disturbs

even submerged—weighed down by seas

— buoyant despite itself—it’s gone

through the hurricanes

of its own migration

Roger Desy For careers I taught literature and creative writing and edited technical manuals. My plan was to write. The past few years I’ve come back to short lyrics, where I began and continue to find myself. Poems are in Cider Press Review, Kenyon Review, Mid-American Review, The Pinch, Poet Lore, and other journals. Early mornings it’s only the poem.

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