The Cafe Review

is a poet, painter, and essayist living in Paris and Sausalito, California. She was born in Beirut Lebanon in 1925 to a Syrian father and a

by Jake Berry The torches of heaven outwit the rage of humans They gather without effort in the deep strata (where the Old Ones are buried) —

by Jake Berry Spokes of the sun strike the sky deep blue — painful An agitation through pipe smoke scattering the nocturnal eye Fragments of joy

by Jake Berry A fist around the edges — slurry at the heart Tanks Absalom The garter worn twisted Thieves torn from their barracks and scattered

by Norbert Hirschhorn They stand on concrete pylons, pinions of steel, imagining landmarks they can no longer see: acacias, date palms, orange

by Norbert Hirschhorn work the streets of Leicester Square. One peddles ribbons for your sweetie’s hair, the next hawks roses filched from front

by Russell Rowland When the wind is right, I hear the strike of the downtown steeple clock. Though annually uncertain of the date His own Son

by Alan Elyshevitz I am solvent, well – ventilated. No one has spurned me. The trees in my window efface the wind. Yet my murmurings catch

by Leah Twitchell As the baby rolled and tumbled Down a full flight of stairs, Slow motion kicked in And what took seconds seemed like years. I

by Leah Twitchell She was rearranging the furniture In her parent’s house — As if by changing the shape of the house as it had been then, The

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