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
The Problem with Memory
I want to say I remember someone
who bought a book at a reading,
who was sitting by the window,
who had dark hair, and whom
I wanted to buy a beer but couldn't,
and whose book I stuffed with a few
pages of new work I had read,
and whom I did not know, and so
assumed was in from out of town,
and if I recall, I decided to
stop smoking or start smoking
again, and I read the new poem
about what Tom Ridge called the
Hard Orange Alert because they
were in the middle of a war and needed
something between highly alarmed
and run for your fucking lives,
because they wanted us scared
enough to be docile but not so scared
we would stop buying hummers,
and the wind that night made me feel
like death was a thousand miles away
as I walked out of the bar with her
ten dollars in my pocket, and looked for her,
though she had gone by then, and I
wondered which way she had walked
and if I'd see her on the way to the train.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
