ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Cover
Masthead
Susan Deer Cloud:
Playing Marbles
Dan Nowak:
A Return to the Past After History Failed Me
Katie Hartsock:
The Sun Does Not Rise, We Turn To It
Naomi Glassman:
Miles until Michigan
Michael Keshigian:
Landlord
Andrew Terhune:
The Rabbits of Chicago Wait Only for Me
Mel Sarnese:
Family Reunion
David W. Landrum:
Jugville, USA
Todd Heldt:
The Problem with Memory
Tad Richards:
Mittens
Benjamin Russell:
Picasso's Loaves, 1952 (a photograph by Robert Doisneau)
Richard Lighthouse:
activities during meetings
Ryan A. Bunch:
At the Graveyard
Samuel S. Vargo:
Just a Rainy Night in Georgia
Caitlin Ramsey:
Handy
Kyi May Kaung:
Geese
Steve Klepetar:
Kids Today
Steve Trebellas:
Sweet Dimes
Dan Nowak:
Walking Through a Snow Storm is Like Waiting to Call Yourself
Kathleen Boyle:
O Nonni
Katerina Stoykova-Klemer:
Stones
Susan Deer Cloud:
Asthma
Patty Paine:
salt; or the night you left
Kyi May Kaung:
I come from …
Allan Peterson:
My Math
Maw Shein Win:
throwing sparklers at the green mezzanine
Kim Roberts:
Summer Rain
Samuel S. Vargo:
Fotophone
Janice D. Rubin:
Interstate 5
Patrick Loafman:
An Idiot's Guide to the Blue Cat
Saeed Jones:
Eve on Top
Jean Tupper:
Gisela, my friend …
Michael Spring:
Leaving Belfast
Ryan A. Bunch:
Annual Toads
Katie Hartsock:
Leaving the Forest
Contributors
Volume One Issue Two
Asthma
You used to predict the exact date it would begin.
Always in Dog Days. Hay fever when ragweed scraped
air like brown sentinels dressed to kill, asthma when
goldenrod bloomed into deceptions of breathtaking yellow.
Every August the air you and I could not get enough of
cooled into September, one more school year.
Every morning at four our throats shut. We'd get up,
you lit old gas oven for heat. We'd hunch near open
stove door, wheeze, fight to suck oxygen in, stare
at flames wavering bruise-like in black holes.
I can't pretend you were a demonstrative mother.
Unlike my younger sister, I don't recall your saying
you loved me. Only when I couldn't breathe,
when I was sickest, did I receive affection from you.
The dawns when sun blossomed over trees outside
kitchen window, when even in such suffering
our eyes flamed blue at leaves lifting to fire —
then maybe you grabbed my hand, fingers a weave
of desperation, and I in the web thinking you, my mother,
so beautiful as we suffocated together.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
