by Jessica Purdy

An image recurs: a yellow leaf
everyone thought would land
is condemned mid–fall
to the purgatory of a spider’s web.

Palimpsest upon which the story’s written.
Ink erased, inked, re–erased
until holes rub through
like the jeans of ill–used girls.

Deleted names of girls
mothers have pained into this world,
girls singled out daily
by some mad god’s eye
cracking comfort
like the thinnest ice.

Even the dunnest sparrow
can be stalked as she moves
through browned marsh grass —
the tips shiver with minute explorations
until she’s gone and everything
left behind is still here
keeping the vigil of revision.
Consider this kind of loss.

by Kendall Merriam

Blues Moon
     for Raised by Wolves

Fog, fog
can’t see anything
its blocking life
a long time back
I was certain
about everything
now I’m certain
about nothing
will I see the pretty fillies
dancing, prancing
to your music
in the Highlands
only five days away
music of the gods
loud enough to wake up
all our souls
the music you play
makes us happy, joyous
cuts through
the crust of despair
you are the doctors
of the hearts
of everyone in the audience
fending off worry, pain
making life bearable
with strings, drums
voices
I can’t wait to hear
life going on
through your sound
in our foggy little Heaven

Listening to Lucinda Williams “World Without Tears”

by Kendall Merriam

Carlos Santana Wins Medal
     for My Brother Parker and All Drummers

Every time I listen to his music
I think of you
Maybe you are playing
In his band
Or perhaps in one of
The Muscle Shoal’s back up groups
Or maybe Joni Mitchell
Took you by the hand
Made you her drummer and lover
I never saw you dead
All possibilities are open
All those times you ran away
Perhaps you were just looking
To sit in in some bar
And prove what you could do
On a full set
Not the split conga
That I bought for you
One Christmas in Boston
For $12.00
Our parents couldn’t understand
The need for music
In your mind, heart and soul
Were you listening to sounds
From somewhere else
In our brilliant, giant Universe
Are you playing now
In Jesus’ night club
With pretty women
Eyeing you from the audience
Wanting to take you home!

Listening to “The Best of Santana”

by Dana Wilde

When seeds fly goldenrod & ragweed
Racing driven wind like birds
Across the sky, and sky like blue
From north wind water upward through
The clear & resonant air of fall
Reflects September seas,
The floods of summer cool in breezes;
Winter is a dark & reckless thing.

Reflections from the fluent earth
In tones immerse the clouds & burst
With measures warmer than the summer sun,
For you by sanctifying air
Reward irradiations field & straw
Resuming seed & leaf. The frost now thaws.