Unable to find a horizon I once tried to dive into the sky at midnight there is no sign of where stars end and ocean begins I leapt too high off the boat holding only myself falling into that unasking unspeaking world below I’m not sure I ever hit the water or that I ever climbed back out

There is none of the electricity of winter in the marshland spring rains. Instead, they roll in on the humidity, oppressive and swollen. The peepers are the first to announce the new arrivals. Their prayers that their quickly filling vernal pool houses might stay long enough for the eggs they will soon lay echo against the walls of fresh growth around them. The deer head, severed, buried, and forgotten last season, comes uncovered in the first swell of the storm, picked clean and waiting now…Continue Reading “Prevernal Chesapeake by Carol “Jane” Hagen” →

His crème brûlée is starting to grow mold, Cream and yolk separating Like he and I on the sidewalk that night, Slowly but steadfast, No chance of reconnecting. Our jambalaya has hardened, The peppers and onions have soured And turned to mush. Condensation drips from the lid like our Conversations after he decides I am not what he wants, quick and to the point, no real flavor left. This refrigerator is full of boxes, bags, and Tupperware; Hands I still want to hold and Voices…Continue Reading “Leftovers by Alexandra Englehart” →

I want you to feel me in your veins like fire: darkening, hardening, burning. I want to melt over you, under you, inside you like butter. Lay me down, spread me out until I seep inside, a taste you can’t get rid of. I want to break you in two, feed on the soft parts, feel you crunch in the middle. I want to throw you away, the pieces that don’t matter. the tasteless edges: lifeless, broken pieces, So there’s nothing left for anyone else….Continue Reading “Toast by Alexandra Englehart” →