The Cafe Review

by Joe Richey At the international line high–noon cool 100 degree day east of Sasabe, Arizona, pissing in the sizzling sand I burned hand

by Mark Melnicove In the middle of the spelling quiz, JFK died. The announcement by our principal, an old man who could barely stand anymore,

by Mark Melnicove Dust under the bed lies unmoving without complaint. I have to get on my hands and knees to see it, the vacuum grumbling for a

by Mark Melnicove Don’t chew on plastic soldiers! my mother shouted, ripping them from my mouth, they’ll make you sick! she warned, leaving me

by Stephen Cramer We could have borrowed beads from our parents’ dresser tops or peeled faux mother of pearl buttons from our sweaters, but

by Stephen Cramer Steel lemmings, they follow one another as they’d grown accustomed to all those years, the old New York City subway cars hauled

by Stephen Cramer This is the liquid mantra that the woman in the bespangled mumu repeats every three & a half breaths, practically singing

by Bryce Milligan I’ve seen mezzo sopranos shatter glass and wondered how this high A–flat that sings — an octave above my guitar’s last

by Bryce Milligan I took the finger of the goddess, broke it from her statue in the shadows cast by years so dim now they cannot be told from

by Bryce Milligan The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind. — Emily Dickinson Deep in this

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