The Cafe Review

by Mark DeCarteret A Description of New England “ . . . the paradise of those parts.” John Smith It was

by Mark DeCarteret “ . . . and so we got rid of the day as well as we could.” — Nathaniel Hawthorne All that separates you from the past is this

by Sarah Anderson 1. They agreed to meet at half seven, the pub on the corner with the bright yellow door. He told her to look for his faded red

by Sarah Anderson You see, it was hot orange light back in the forest by the rusted water tower where he said never turn this way — flames

by Kathleen Clancy Shakespeare! Over and over and over again he professes his love: longer than time, more solid than stone, immune to actual war

by Kathleen Clancy At the end of a summer’s day gravity pushed me down toward the earth. I bounced once, landing on the sloping pavement. I

by James Rioux Mostly, You’ll Find Me for Franz Wright Forgive me this silly little riddle: of how the world keeps giving me these bruised

by Paul Pines bare limbs just greening taxonomy starkly visible implicate echo of leaves porches at night harboring shadows we walk my old

by Paul Pines EPONYMOUS PAUL Easter morning the notion of waking to the sound of a trumpet or its corollary the Roshi’s well–timed

by Paul Fericano Not that good sense has anything to do with poetry but if for some reason I should decide That I’m not completely satisfied with