by Marcia Southwick
They’ve finally admitted that trying to save oil-soaked
seabirds doesn’t work. You can wash them, rinse them
with a high-pressure nozzle, feed them activated charcoal
to absorb toxic chemicals, & test them for anemia, but the oil
still disrupts the microscopic alignment of feathers . . .
by Lynne McMahon
I caught this evening evening’s genie,
epoxied to the chrome in light–.
sensitive fluorescent script
repeating in each headlight’s sweep
No Fat Chicks. No Fat Chicks, unegged,
unknifed, not yet set aflame or painted out,
by Charles Wright
No word for time, no word for God, landscape exists outside each,
But stays, incurable ache, both things,
And bears me out as evening darkens and steps forth, . . .
by Peter Baida
The pain in Mary McDonald’s bones is not the old pain that she knows well, but a new pain. Sitting in her room in the Booth-Tiessler Geriatric Center, on the third floor, in the bulky chair by the window, Mary tries to measure this pain. She sits motionless, with a grave expression on her face, while the cheerless gray sky on the other side of the window slowly fades toward evening.
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