By Debra Conner

At the Tribune editor’s urging, I penned
a satiric review of The Beautiful and Damned,
joking about Scott’s habit of plucking
passages from my letters and diaries.

The newspaper’s folded open on the table
and I reread my best lines:
Mr. Fitzgerald — I believe that’s how
he spells his name — seems to believe
plagiarism begins at home.

I tried to keep it light, to ignore
the editor’s note that I’m Scott’s wife.
Buy the book, I urge the readers,
I need that gold dress in Bergdorf ’s window,
that splashy platinum ring.

Scott’s out and the baby’s asleep, so I trash
the rubble of butts and bottles. My head throbs.
My name on the page contracts and expands.
A broken glass bloodies my hands.

By Cammy Thomas

a hot air balloon
floats above my head
whether in slanting sun
or blown sideways by hurricane
always there
huge faded orange and green balloon
with a message

this could be good if you remember it
it says or
why not read a book to the end sometime
the balloon is there
as long as I’m alive
seventy seventy seventy
to the end sometime
it tugs on my scalp
helping and hurting me
to stay upright

hot air balloon roaring
as it refills with combustibles
always floats above my head
and supervises me
heading into the Psalms
trying on songs of praise
when all I see is bare reaches
empty trees empty tiger

By Luis Garcia

The Singing Nest
for Pam

In his broken world,
he’s locked in a closet of pain,
wearing gloves of stone
on his hands of rain.

In his broken world,
he takes what he needs,
and he leaves the rest
and that has allowed him
to build this singing nest.

By Luis Garcia

A Place to Call Home
for Pam

He’s said it before,
and he’ll say it again:
he’s trying hard
to get back home.

It’s a place he longs for
and a place
he once belonged,

a place within a place,
a song within a song.