by Gerry LaFemina
Just before dawn they arise—
each with its own music.
On the morning news an almost well-dressed anchor
gives the gruesome details of a local homicide—
by Bob Hicok
A bee in the field. The house on the mountain
reveals itself to have been there through summer.
It’s not a bee but a horse eating frosted grass
in the yawn light. Secrets, the anguish of smoke
above the chimney as it shreds what it’s learned
by Ryan Van Meter
Ben and I are sitting side by side in the very back of his mother’s station wagon. We face glowing white headlights of cars following us, our sneakers pressed against the back hatch door. This is our joy—his and mine—to sit turned away from our moms and dads in this place that feels like a secret, as though they are not even in the car with us.
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