Flying Island

The Milk Saucer by T.D. Richards    The old woman cries out in her sleep to the old man who has gone,  leaving his ears in the drawer. She opens her eyes, and the cat with a broken heart is pressed against her mottled skin stroking her thin wrist with breath. She recalls tiger lilies in the green depression glass vase he won at carnival--tossing pennies into the milk saucer. Bio: “I have lived in Indiana most of my life. I have had three careers that have lead me to value the importance of observation, hence my love of poetry now.”

Livestock by Jared Carter At journey’s end, forced to debark           and follow ramps That funnel them down through the dark,           into a damp, Benighted place, where sharpened knives           await – they go, In single file, their route devised           so none can know In minutes they will all be dead.           They only mind That what keeps prodding them ahead           is from behind. Bio: Jared Carter's most recent book is Darkened Rooms of Summer: New and Selected Poems (University of Nebraska Press). He lives in Indianapolis.

Oda a la Bugambilia by Karel Van Horn Compañera flor, eterna amiga, te amo—eres bella, democrática y fuerte. Pequeña selva de colores inolvidables, habitas macetas, paredes y solares. Acompañas fielmente a la gente humilde, en las ventanas de sus chozas, en botes de café. Festival de luces, cobija viviente, engalanas las bardas de los pueblos olvidados. Flor del desierto, ¡cómo te aguantas! Creces con más ganas bajo el sol abrazador. Eterna amiga mía, no dejes que te cambien, te amo—eres bella, democrática y fuerte. Ode to the Bougainvillea by Karel Van Horn Kindred flower, eternal friend, I adore you, for you’re beautiful, communal and enduring.     Tiny jungle of unforgettable hues, you live in clay pots, on village walls, in vacant lots. Faithful neighbor to the humble and the poor, you’re in windows of their shanties, in old tin coffee cans. Festival of lights...

Dillinger by Jared Carter Out of the Biograph, its chill           still lingering, Out of that darkness, and the thrill           such dreams can bring – Into the neon night, her hand           slipping away, And all around you now they stand,           as if to say This is the way it always ends           when bankers rule – The world reduced to dividends,           the blood in pools. Bio: Jared Carter's most recent book is Darkened Rooms of Summer: New and Selected Poems (University of Nebraska Press). He lives in Indianapolis.