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
Handy
His baking paper skin is cold-pale and tightly drawn
over the bones of his hands. There are no brittle bird bones here,
no delicate frames for gold or diamonds,
instead angry scaffolds beneath a fleshy harness,
chafing and bulging at the seams of skin.
Whitened knuckles shine and emaciated wrists bear promise of carnage to come.
The too-thin skin will be no match for their ivory violence
when mutinous cries rally them forward.
They will shred that fishbelly veil without a second's
hesitation and leave him, bleeding and handless, with gloves of shredded
epidermis dangling from his wrists, as pathetic as empty pie wrappers.
A small scatter of fingernails will lie, spread around like discarded clothes tags,
bloodied and useless, except as bookmarks.
And he will look back with fond affection to the innocent days before
his bones ran away.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
