Poetry Winter 2016 fiction all issues
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Cover Joel Filipe
Alexander McCoy
Questions to Ask a Mountain
& other poems
Alexandra Kamerling
Prairie
& other poems
Debbie Hall
She Walks Into Starbucks Carrying a 2 x 4
& other poems
Michael Fleming
Patience
& other poems
Jim Pascual Agustin
Sheet and Exposed Feet
& other poems
Melissa Cantrell
Collision
& other poems
Martin Conte
Skin
& other poems
AJ Powell
The Road to Homer
& other poems
Paul W. Child
World Diverted
& other poems
Michael Eaton
Remembrances
& other poems
Lawrence Hayes
Walking the Earth
& other poems
Daniel Sinderson
Like a Bit of Harp and a Far Off Twinkle
& other poems
Sam Hersh
Las Trampas
& other poems
Margo Jodyne Dills
Babies and Young Lovers
& other poems
Nicole Anania
To the Dying Man's Daughter
& other poems
Lisa Zou
Under the Parlor
& other poems
Hazel Kight Witham
Hoofbeat Heartbeat
& other poems
Margaret Dawson
Daylily
& other poems
James Wolf
An Act of Kindness
& other poems
Jane A. Horvat
Psychedelic
& other poems
Bill Newby
Touring
& other poems
Jennifer Sclafani
Hindsight Twenty Twenty
& other poems
Jim Pascual Agustin
Sheet and Exposed Feet
My mother thinks little of ironing
clothes. They gather wrinkles
as soon as you put them on,
she says. Even the collar made stiff
with starch will get creased
in no time. She knows we all die
crumpled and naked in God’s
eyes. You don’t get to choose
the surface your skin must finally
press against as it bears the weight
your soul once carried. The softest
cotton, fine grain of wood,
tiny teeth of gravel, the twisting
arms of waves or burst of flames,
will bind to your flesh
until you are no more
than broken links of carbon.
For those waiting to be identified,
heaven is a white sheet too short
to cover their feet.
International Space Station,
23 July 2014
on a photo by Alexander Gerst
Light, invisible unless it strikes
something: a wall, a tree, a sliver
of smoke, your eye. Fireworks makers
know how to make light whirl
and dance, displacing the stars
of midsummer or grip of winter.
Entranced, one can only surrender.
If you didn’t know what the bursts of light
Alexander Gerst had captured in space,
you could be forgiven for thinking
they were beautiful, like filigree
or deep sea creatures. But there,
dark waters bordered
by a scattering of lights, the beach
where four children playing
were blown up.
Crocodiles in Belfast
The morning radio reports
another crocodile attacked a woman
in Belfast. She was washing a bucket
to be filled with river water to carry
back home. Two other women armed
with buckets were around. They screamed
and clattered the hollow plastics,
swung them against the crocodile's sides
until it released the woman's leg.
Annoyed, it withdrew to a quieter
part of the river to wait in silence
for another meal. The news
will soon be forgotten
before the woman's leg heals.
But she will be going back
to the river's edge
while the drought extends its grip
on the land and the men
of the village go in search
for work elsewhere in Mpumalanga.
Women and Children First
A woman, her grip
tight as a fist, is pulling back
the hijab of another woman.
In the same frame, a boy
with rubber sandals is poised
to land a kick on her thawb.
Just look closely.
The soldiers
in the background
aren't doing anything.
Jim Pascual Agustin
writes and translates poetry in Filipino and English. He grew up in the Philippines and moved to Cape Town in 1994. He won the Grand Prize at NoiseMedium and the Gabo Prize at Lunch Ticket. His books include Alien to Any Skin, Sound Before Water, and A Thousand Eyes. His eighth book of poetry, Wings of Smoke, is forthcoming from Onslaught Press (UK). He condemns the murderous Duterte administration. He blogs at www.matangmanok.wordpress.com