Poetry Winter 2013 fiction all issues
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Alysse Kathleen McCanna
Pentimento
& other poems
Peter Nash
Shooting Star
& other poems
Katherine Smith
House of Cards
& other poems
David Sloan
On the Rocks
& other poems
Alexandra Smyth
Exoskeleton Blues
& other poems
John Glowney
The Bus Stop Outside Ajax Bail Bonds
& other poems
Andrea Jurjević O’Rourke
It Was a Large Wardrobe...
& other poems
Lisa DeSiro
Babel Tree
& other poems
Michael Fleming
Reptiles
& other poems
Michael Berkowitz
As regards the tattoo on your wrist
& other poems
Michael Brokos
Landscape without Rest
& other poems
Michael H. Lythgoe
Orpheus In Asheville
& other poems
John Wentworth
morning people
& other poems
Christopher Jelley
Double Exposure
& other poems
Catherine Dierker
dinner party
& other poems
William Doreski
Hate the Sinner, Not the Sin
& other poems
Robert Barasch
Loons
& other poems
Rande Mack
bear
& other poems
Susan Marie Powers
Red Bird
& other poems
Anne Graue
Sky
& other poems
Mariah Blankenship
Tub Restoration
& other poems
Paul R. Davis
Landscape
& other poems
Philip Jackey
Garage drinking after 1989
& other poems
Karen Hoy
A Naturalist in New York
& other poems
Gary Sokolow
Underworld Goddess
& other poems
Michal Mechlovitz
The Early
& other poems
Henry Graziano
Last Apple
& other poems
Stephanie L. Harper
Unvoiced
& other poems
Roger Desy
anhinga
& other poems
R. G. Evans
Hangoverman
& other poems
Frederick L. Shiels
Driving Past the Oliver House
& other poems
Richard Sime
Berry Eater
& other poems
Jennifer Popoli
Generations in a wine dark sea
& other poems
anhinga
—feeding a brood
an anhinga knows
itself enough to know
the most important thing alive
is not itself—instead
being part—a part
of what it made
of what it was and is
—feeding nestlings
it feeds itself—
later—brooding done
apart from itself
nothing else matters
—after diving for prey
—flocking the shoals
to a single stone
roosting with its kind
it preens its own shadow
undulating in the mirrored glare
—napping on guano
its wings alone
drench dry in the sun—
—come winter—
alone—after its turn and time
—it dies unseen unknown—
no predator torments observing it
—nothing in particular seeks out
or notices
floating—or blowing sand
—feather—quill—or barb
—no calm—or fog—or squall—cirrus
or haloed moon disturbs
even submerged—weighed down by seas
— buoyant despite itself—it’s gone
through the hurricanes
of its own migration
Roger Desy 
For careers I taught literature and creative writing and edited technical manuals. My plan was to write. The past few years I’ve come back to short lyrics, where I began and continue to find myself. Poems are in Cider Press Review, Kenyon Review, Mid-American Review, The Pinch, Poet Lore, and other journals. Early mornings it’s only the poem.