East India Grill Villanelle
© by Cecilia Woloch Across the table, Bridget sneaks a smile;
she’s caught me staring past her at the man
who brings us curried dishes,
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Mrs. M.P.
by MWctn She did not send me my voice,
nor the words, nor the choices
I made to render sentences
in metered rhythms (or
cadences within the
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Nursing You
© by Erica Jong On the first night
of the full moon,
the primeval sack of ocean
broke,
& I gave birth to you
little woman,
little
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She Told Me the Earth Loves Us
© by Anne Haven McDonnell She said it softly, without a need
for conviction or romance.
After everything? I asked, ashamed. That’s
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Womanhood
© by Catherine Anderson She slides over
the hot upholstery
of her mother’s car,
this schoolgirl of fifteen
who loves humming & swaying
with the radio.
Her entry
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A Son’s Ransom
by MWctn
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Excerpt from The Dead
by James Joyce (The well-known final paragraph begins at the 10:46 mark of the recording.)
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I Was Not A Soldier
by MWctn I was not a soldier
but for the wailing truth,
that touched the frail fingers
of my late-born grasp
of bitter fruit
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Sirmiq the Little Penguin
by MWctn Dedicated to Jacob Thompson and his family.      Far, far to the south, in snowy, icy country, where even the wind is frozen, in
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