Close-knit Family
by Gerald Locklin Toad is bragging How his thirteenth grandchild Is due in less than a week, and His eighty-year-old new buddy At the donut
Uncle Jack
by Mike Pulley You died twice, appropriately, Since you lived two lives in one, A childhood future-enfolded, a kid embedded In age-spot skin. The
Aubade
by Sandy Weisman I get up to row on the river. My scull glides to the gloomy edge of the water thick with spent lilies. A great blue heron
The Gravel Diaries
by Martin Ott The pen scratches a long-ago itch. A one-eared dog brays at a coyote invading his street. The delivery truck coughs too close for
Spring Thaw
by Mike Bove Side streets roil with rough slush, diminutive whitecaps loll at the foot of driveways, mailboxes wear melting crowns and bow low
There is a Rumor That During Construction of one of Portland’s Prominent Thoroughfares in the 1850s, Some Workers Died in a Freak Accident and the Road was Built Atop Their Bodies
by Mike Bove The men buried beneath Commercial Street are hardly resting. They died where they worked, stayed where they fell, and rolled only