Winter Solstice - A Poem by Ethel Mortenson Davis
English As a Second Language English is my second language, but the first is unpronounceable. I learned it from the cradle when it called both to and from me in my own heart’s voice, its urgency unsoundable, I echoed back... Continue Reading →
Ice Land The stream never froze, despite the arctic cold. It grew a crackly crust – burnt sugar on top of crème brûlée – that broke like crystal when we crossed it. The stream never froze, but everything else did.... Continue Reading →
Turning on the Radio to Rachmaninoff's 18th Variation on a Theme of Pagannini You can’t expect, always, to find a ten or a presidential pardon in a forgotten pocket. But you might, on occasion, turn on the radio to find... Continue Reading →
Note From the Underground we are the afterglow— captured echoes with sun tans day drunk apocalyptos peddling art for memories we are the last burning cigarette of modern day inconvenience and we're almost at the filter. This poem also appears... Continue Reading →
Things He Can Do Which I Can't He can make a knife out of cardboard and a clothespin. With wood scraps he can build a death-ray gun. A banana is a telephone. The floor is burning hot lava. The furniture,... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 