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FROM PREVIOUS ISSUES

COLD HARMONY

You tipped me off
Between the rain--
In that diner that one night
Before eggs and stale coffee,
You made mention,
This may not work out.
And just like that,
Like a murky mistake‑
The rain slid in. Silent at
First, then out of nowhere--
Loud. Banging fiercely on all the
Coffee cups, sliding down,
Blanketing this small town diner
Like a sticky Thursday afternoon mistake.
Cold, harmonious, relieved.
You had tipped me off,
Too bad the rain was too loud for
Me to hear.

Desire Oliver
Brentwood, NY




MIRRORS AND STORMS

My wife told me that her grandmother in Mexico
used to put blankets over the mirrors
when it rained
the reasons have been forgotten

I think of this in my cab
stuck on the side of Mission Road
during a terrible monsoon storm
windshield wipers flapping like the arms of a hiker
in a swarm of bees

I keep glancing at myself in the rearview mirror
my face is too much
in the middle of it all
that isn't me
something else is coming through

I put a handkerchief over the mirror
sit here in my little island cave
of metal and rubber

looking out at the lightning and rain
like atomic bombs blowing up
all over the known world.

Mather Schneider
Tucson, AZ

SPACES

Since my father died
I call my mother at least
twice a week. I ask
about her day, if her feet
still hurt. I wish
we had more to say. Jazz
plays softly on my stereo
as she tells me the new
burner was installed Thursday,
the garage door is falling
apart and the yard needs
weeding. Soon, she'll realize
she's talking to the wrong son.
I can balance her checkbook,
pitch batting practice
to the grandkids for hours.
But I can barely tell
the difference between a pair
of pliers and a wrench.

Anytime I had to work
around the house, Dad
would end up yelling
and send me to my room,
finish the job himself.
I'd slam the door, strap
headphones on and blast
The Young Rascals. Later,
he'd push open my door,
toss me my fielder's mitt.
We'd race the six blocks
to the sand lots. He crouched
behind home plate, put down
one finger. I tugged my cap,
started my wind up and hit
his target with a high hard one.
The Friday before Father's
Day, I asked Mom
if she would be alright, if
she wanted me to come by.
She started to cry. I felt
helpless, tried to untangle
the extension cord. I knew
she would never tell me
what she misses most
about him, or when she feels
the loneliest I kept
quiet, listened to the music.
Monk was playing a piece
I couldn't name. The spaces
between the notes kept getting
bigger, and somehow I knew
Thelonius had made those places
so my mother could cry
and I could listen.

Tony Gloeggler
Richmond Hill, NY